Souvenirs
by JueJue
Summary: Like ants they began to try to build their lives back after the war, but going back to normal proved difficult, impossible even. As relationships unravel, Hermione finds herself at Hogwarts once more. FL/HG, Alternate History. (Detailed summary inside)
1. Chapter 1

**Full summary**: The traumas of war left her emotionally distant. Hoping to recover, Hermione returns to Hogwarts almost two years later to finish her final year. However, things become complicated as she realizes that the skeletons she had buried so deep in her closet begin to resurface in the form of a young, blooming Frenchwoman.

**Note**: Most events are kept canon, except for Fleur's involvement post GoF.

**Note 1.5:** I won't use the French dialect that JK Rowling uses for Fleur because I feel like its a kind of marker that Fleur was egotistical and arrogant, an outsider.

**Note 2**: I am from America. I speak the Americanese. However, I have done substantial amounts of research on how the English-English speak and I hopefully do not make anyone across the pond facepalm. Wouldn't mind it a bloody bit if anyone calls me out if i used the wrong speech pattern/syntax.

_Dedicated to my dearly beloved Haylee and all the readers out there taking the time to read this. _

Please enjoy. :)

* * *

**Chapter 1: Saturdays**

* * *

**Saturday. January 15th, 1996**

It was a particularly cold evening when she stumbled upon Fleur near the Black Lake.

She saw Fleur first, bent over the calm icy water, wand in hand. Concentrating, Fleur whispered a spell while flicking her wrist. At first, Hermione thought that whatever spell the woman had cast did not work, which filled her with a budding amount of glee. If only the boys could see their beloved Fleur, one of the heralded champions in this year's Triwizard Tournament, fail at spellcasting. The thought made her smirk.

Only, the smirk dwindled as she heard the water hiss, congeal and then freeze. Fleur's spell worked, she thought begrudgingly.

"Mademoiselle Granger," spoke Fleur. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Hermione swallowed her surprise and responded, "I was on my way back to the castle when I noticed you." Inwardly, she wondered how Fleur knew her name.

Fleur's eyebrow lifted slightly as she stood up, wand still pointing at the lake's freezing surface, "You are curious, oui?"

"No." It came out rushed, defensive, "I'll be on my way back to the castle now."

"Non, Mademoiselle Granger, you are welcome to stay and watch." A triumphant smile spread across Fleur's face, "I could use some company."

Hermione's foot, the one that had just moved to put distance between her and the Frenchwoman stilled then set firmly back onto the ground. She wasn't sure why, perhaps it was because the golden egg, retrieved by each champion from the First Task, sat a few feet away from Fleur. It wouldn't hurt to talk to Fleur about it, as Harry had yet to understand its screaming.

Perhaps, she was curious.

She couldn't pinpoint why she stayed. Later, on the long walk back to Hogwarts, she would blame it on the batting eyelashes. And much later, she would admit that she stayed because she wanted to.

"I do not," Fleur paused, thinking. "How do you English say it...I will not maul you if you come closer."

Hermione stifled a laugh. She could not laugh with Fleur. Not with someone she voiced so loudly and negatively about in the Gryffindor commons.

"Bite. I do not bite," she corrected.

"Oui, oui, I do not bite," Fleur chastised, waving at Hermione. "Come closer."

She cautiously approached, wary of Fleur's sudden warmth. She was different than the woman that had laughed during Dumbledore's speech in the Great Hall. Different than the woman that deemed Harry "a boy" too young for the tournament. Where was the bravado, she wondered as she stopped an arm's length away from Fleur.

"Why are you freezing the water?" Hermione asked bluntly.

"So I can walk on it." Her answer was simple."In Beauxbaton, we do not have a lake or any large bodies of water. It does not get as cold there, so it would take several witches to freeze any fountain so we may play on it. Besides, we are not allowed to do such barbaric things."

At that, Fleur stepped onto the ice. Hermione held her breath, wondering if the ice would break. Naturally, her hand moved into her pocket to grasp her wand.

"Have you ever walked on ice, Mademoiselle Granger?"

"Hermione. Please call me Hermione."

Fleur nodded and did a small curtsy on the ice, "I am Fleur Delacour. It is a pleasure to meet you Hermione Granger."

"How did you know my name?" Hermione asked. It bothered her; people seemed to recognize Harry Potter but she had always, from the start, been Harry Potter's muggle born friend.

"You grew quite famous after Krum had chosen you as a date, non?" Fleur spoke slowly, her words muddled beneath her accent, her syllables paced and thoughtful. "My fellow _souers_ grew quite jealous."

Hermione stared down at the ground, averting her gaze from Fleur, suddenly ashamed. She had heard the rumors. "I did not...seduce him."

Fleur smiled, or smirked at least, as she turned and began to slide against the ice. "Je sais," she whispered-almost as if she were talking to herself. Hermione did not know if Fleur realized she had slipped into French, but did not protest; her extensive studies in Latin helped her understand.

"How did you know?"

Fleur twirled with grace on the ice, her scarf following every precise revolution. In the setting sun, the blonde's hair gleamed, her blue eyes alight. She did not speak again until she stopped spinning, her gaze fixed on Hermione. "Vous et moi ne sommes pas differentes."

* * *

**Saturday, November 10th, 2000**

Bony hands reached for her wand, unsheathing it from her pocket and pointing it at the ice. "Duratus" Hermione spoke in a voice that she did not recognize. It formed the words she wished but this voice was hoarse and broken, pitched as if it were dragged from her vocal cords.

At her command,the water started to solidify.

As the latticework of ice formed, Hermione took slow yet deliberate steps towards the middle of the Black Lake. Once far enough from the shore, she stopped. Closing her eyes, she stretched her arms out wide as if they were wings, ready to take flight.

There was so much struggle. It was constant. With Harry, with Ron, with the dead and those left behind, scars and nightmares. But it was easy not to struggle, easy to be at peace and forget, when the water was a quiet and cold embrace.

Hermione's mind drifted to her first year at Hogwarts, filled with so much awe and curiosity. She remembered the moving staircases and ever-changing ceiling of the dining hall. Her thoughts veered to Ron's smile and Harry's laugh and the raucous cheering when Gryffindor won House Cup. She remembered the smell of her mother's cookies and old book pages. Distantly, she recalled, long ago, that a strange French girl took her ice skating-ice gliding-on the waters above her.

Fleur. Her name was Fleur. She wondered if Fleur had been a figment of her imagination; too attractive, too perfect even with her blotchy English, French accent and large blue eyes.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

When the icy water consumed her body, she did not wince. There was no pain, no struggle. Hermione was at peace.

* * *

**Saturday. January 15th, 1996**

"_Vous et moi ne sommes pas differentes_."

"What does that mean?"

"You and I are not so different," Fleur replied nonchalantly. As they spoke, she continued to move on the improvised, partially frozen lake.

"We are not?"

"Indeed, Hermione." Her name, spoken with Fleur's tongue, seemed different. The first syllable was less pronounced. "Would you care to join me?"

"No," Hermione answered quickly, still stuck on the previous subject. "How are we similar then?"

She looked at Fleur who possessed beauty without need for potions, glamours or charms; even in her plain blue uniform and coordinating scarf, she looked ready for photographs. Fleur was the embodiment of grace and style with her veela blood. She was older, developed, admired. Hermione was, and always would be, books and brains, wand waving and hand raising with hair that could double as a bird's nest.

"We are..." Fleur paused again, thinking. "We are to please the people around us."

"You, Harry and red hair boy, Ralph, was his name? They often look to you for answers, oui? For homework at least? My sisters tell me you are very intelligent."

For other things as well, like writing essays and studying and so much else, but Hermione did not want to say such things to someone she did not know. She simply nodded.

"And your classmates, they pressure you to answer the questions? To get the points for your house-game, correct?" Another nod, "Your ultimate fear is failing them, your friends and teachers and parents too?"

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed, how did Fleur know so much?

"You walk with the burden of responsibility," Fleur observed, "I do the same."

Hermione was impressed; impressed that someone would figure her out so easily.

"I come from a veela family, you see. They expect me to be married within the next year. My school, my sisters, my headmistress, they are all rooting for me to win this Triwizard Cup, this tournament about honor and pride for the school...for the Delacours. To hold the image of perfection, to master knowledge and be a role model all the time..." Fleur stopped on the ice, "It is frustrating."

"Yet no one understands the fear of dragons, of not figuring out what this stupid yellow egg," Fleur gestured towards the golden egg next to Hermione. "_Non, non. Vois et mois..._"

Hermione could not understand the rest as Fleur broke into full on French. She caught familiar words here and there, about family and attractiveness and veelas. However, she understood the pressure, the fear of failing, the eminent day when Snape would ask a question and she would not know the answer.

Hesitantly, Hermione stepped on the ice. This drew Fleur's attention and stopped her mid-ramble.

"I apologize." Fleur offered an embarrassed crooked smile."I am known to talk often when I am frustrated."

Hermione shrugged, "It's alright. You seem to need someone to talk to."

Fleur looked away, even more embarrassed. "A lady should not have outbursts, especially in a language that her company does not know. It is _barbaric_," she scolded.

"At your school, do they say it often? The word 'barbaric'."

"Oui," Fleur scoffed. "My professors use that word for anything a French woman should not do."

"Like walking on ice?"

"Oui."

"But, I, not being French, may play on ice and it is not barbaric?" Hermione teased, skidding closer to Fleur.

"Non, Mademoiselle! It is not ladylike to do such childish things!" Fleur spoke in a higher, shriller voice imitating her professors.

Fleur giggled, breaking the tension. Hermione was partly amused. Between watching the last of the sun dance on Fleur's pale yellow locks and trying not to slip, it occurred to her that Fleur Delacour was not as bad as she seemed. Beyond the vocal and preposterous exterior, she was, at the very least, bearable.

As Fleur gracefully skidded across the ice, Hermione stumbled. They spoke of small topics, family, friends. Hermione even explained that in the muggle world, this was called ice skating and was done on shoes with fitted blades.

"That sounds absolutely dangerous," Fleur declared, "How does one even balance on it?"

Later, when they had tired from sliding and slipping, having fallen too many times on their arses, they sat down on the frosty grass. Silence filled the space between them until Fleur broke it.

"Do I come off as rough?" Her voice sounded small, guarded. Hermione realized it was a touchy subject. However, not knowing what else to say, she responded with the truth.

"I thought you were the biggest, bloodiest bigot," Hermione exhaled, using her matter of factly tone."You spoke so loudly of how much you hated Hogwarts and the decorations, the food and weather."

"I do not blame you," Fleur admitted. "Our school has had a longstanding rivalry; my peers expected, fueled me even, to vocalize my distaste for Hogwarts. And while your foods, so heavy and full of bread, are not delightful…it is not as bad as I made it seem."

"_Excuse moi_, Fleur. I did not know you were under so much pressure."

Fleur laughed, "I'm impressed. You know French?"

"_Merci_. My family spent a summer in Marseille when I was younger. But the bit I have spoken is all I know," Hermione realized her error; mentioning her muggle family. Hastily, she recovered and redirected the conversation. "What of this rivalry?"

"At Beauxbaton, we heard daily of Hogwarts; of Harry Potter attending and how the finest of witches and wizards often graduated there," Fleur began to explain, nonchalantly laying down on the wet grass. Hermione did the same, out of politeness, and listened as Fleur recalled her school's history.

According to her, Beauxbaton had an unrequited rivalry with Hogwarts that was rooted in a descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw. The young girl, raised in France, grew to despise Hogwarts. She saw the school as too easy on its students, filled with unrestrained pride and barbarics. After graduating, she went on to build the foundations for what would become Beauxbaton, a school for witches that taught discipline, manners and elegance in all things magic.

Feeling betrayed, the portrait of Rowena gave permission to her house to infiltrate and vandalise the school during a Triwizard Tournament set at the all girls school that year. Hogwarts had lost, coming in last place after Durmstrang and, for the first time, Beauxbaton won the tournament. Feeling scorned, Durmstrang helped the Ravenclaw students sneak off with the golden harp that played in the school's center garden.

"We see The Lady everyday," Fleur said, referring to the statue that held the golden harp. "Because of a charm, she moves-like your paintings-and everyday she weeps for her harp. Everyday, my sisters and I are reminded of the great travesty Hogwarts had caused so many years ago."

"So, no one has found the harp?"

Fleur shook her head, "No...The tournament ended a few years after the incident and, with it's death, Beauxbaton students were not able to step on your school's ground until now."

Hermione looked shocked. "Are you looking for it?"

Fleur laughed, showcasing a row of perfect teeth. "Non, non, mon ami. I am already busy enough trying to figure out what this screeching egg wants and worrying to myself that at I will accidentally consume a love potion. The harp is far from my mind."

"I could help you look." Hermione started, feeling guilty that her school would do such a thing. "I am here the entire year, after all."

Fleur smiled, genuinely smiled, at Hermione as they laid there, exhausted in the wet, cold grass. "Merci beaucoup but I am sure you are just as busy."

* * *

**Saturday. November 10th, 2000**

_I never did find the har_p, Hermione thought. But that was not her job and Fleur, wherever she was, would have long forgotten it by now.

It was getting uncomfortable, having lost all the oxygen from her lungs. Still, Hermione was peaceful. The icy cold water, like the frosty grass that day with Fleur, numbed her to the bone. The scar on her arm, the one that spelled MUDBLOOD, did not burn as it usually did.

* * *

**Saturday. January 15th, 1996**

The fire of the Gryffindor common room helped to warm them up after; Hermione had insisted they go to her quarters because it was closer.

Truthfully, though she'd deny any such allegation, Hermione actually enjoyed Fleur's company. Fleur did not judge her for her heritage, explaining that her veela bloodline often received the same criticism. Fleur, highly intelligent and being years older, was able to speak intellectually about magical topics; they even debated over the properties of Alchemy.

"_Merci_ Hermione," Fleur thanked, pulling Hermione from her thoughts, "I may finally feel my fingers and toes again."

Hermione hummed in response, tired and sleepy.

They sat, for a long time, in comfortable silence facing the hearth. Hermione stared into the crackling fire, its flames flickering with life as she mulled over her own thoughts. It seemed strange to be in the company of another female. Harry and Ron had been her best friends since the fateful day when a troll attacked her in the loo. The girls of Gryffindor did not share her common interests; Hermione often felt like she was a fixture, always with a book in her bed, a quill and parchment at the ready, a reserved table in the library.

Not many noticed her-not until the Yule Ball. And even after that uproar, things returned to normal. Similar to the moving paintings, passersby regarded her with politeness and often left her alone after a brief greeting. In all honesty, Hermione did not know how to make friends.

She turned to Fleur, wanting to invite her to their Quidditch game next week. Instead, she found Fleur's eyes already on her.

"Do I have something on my face?" Hermione asked, insecure.

Fleur shook her head, "Non, I was simply admiring you."

Hermione felt a blush creep up on her cheeks, wondering if Fleur purposefully chose the word or if it were a translation error.

"There isn't much to admire, I'm afraid."  
"C'est ridicule." Fleur sounded almost appalled. "You garnered plentiful stares at the ball."

"Rubbish. All rubbish and hair potions and glitter," Hermione shrugged. People paid attention when she donned a pretty dress and displayed eye-catching accessories, when she put on perfume and dabbled in makeup. In her current state, smelling of grass, dirt and sweat, hair matted in some areas and enlarged in others, she was not attractive.

"Even I, myself, would not be attracted to me right now." Hermione declared, chest puffed.

Fleur looked like she was about to say something but then refused. There was a pregnant pause that made Hermione uncomfortable. Fleur did not respond, so Hermione continued. "I'm not like you Fleur, I do not have the natural appeal that you do."

"Veela charms," Fleur replied curtly, cheeks blooming red.

"Even the girls find you pretty," Hermione rebutted. "I'm sure that veela charms only work on the opposite gender."

"In general, yes. However, veela charm will work on anyone provided that the other person is not in love and there is physical contact." Not knowing how to respond, Hermione nodded for Fleur to continue. "It requires intense concentration, my being only a quarter veela, to perform the act, but I am capable should I wish."

According to _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find The_m, Hermione remembered that there was a short chapter dedicated to veelas, but the excerpts were short and generalizing. She didn't know they had such powers. The book only explained that they were a female race of siren-like humans, enchanting men in their had an affinity to nature and often resided in small, secluded communities. As such, not much was known about them to the wizarding world. Besides extreme beauty, they were known to turn into ferocious birds under extreme stress.

Fleur spoke as Hermione was lost in her thoughts, trying to recall what she had read. "Would you like to experience it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The veela charm. To understand why Ronald Weasley abruptly asked me to the ball." Fleur added, "It does not hurt."

At the time, she would blame it on her growing crush on a certain Weasley, on trying to figure out a way to his heart. Later she would blame it on the tiredness that wore at her self restraints to contain her curiosity. And later, much later, she would admit that she could not resist the way Fleur looked at her with blue eyes brighter than the fire, soft pink lips slightly puckered as the tip of her tongue peeked out.

Swallowing thickly, Hermione cursed her curiosity and nodded.

* * *

**Saturday. November 10th, 2000**

Touch. Hermione longed touch.

Touch that did not burn, did not hurt. Touch that drew down her walls.

* * *

**Saturday. January 15th, 1996**

Fleur's hand came up to tuck strands of dark, stray hair behind a petite ear. Her palm found the curve of Hermione's left cheek. They shifted, almost automatically, facing each other with knees brushing.

"Close your eyes," Fleur whispered.

Hermione complied.

When she opened them, Fleur was leaning closer, gorgeous blue eyes staring back. Then she felt it: a warmth radiating from Fleur's hand on her face. She felt out of balance, light headed with tunnel vision, Fleur was the only thing she could focus on.

Her eyes, which had flicked to look at the fireplace again, suddenly moved to stare at Fleur's. Hermione felt, with great intensity, the need to touch the other girl. Her mouth and throat dried, her conscience suddenly drowned in over-stimulation. She wanted, in the same moment, to draw away yet surge closer.

Her chest flamed, aching with the need for contact. Hermione couldn't think straight, her fingertips suddenly needing to trace the contours of Fleur's face. Without knowing, Hermione licked her own lips, feeling ashamed that they were chapped because she was about to kiss-

-No, she wasn't.

Everything about Fleur stayed the same, her features did not morph in Hermione's eyes as she expected them to. However, Hermione found that she was more aware of Fleur's flawless skin, oh, how smooth it was. What would she not give to trace the other girl's jawline with her lips, to map a trail down her neck and, perhaps, even further than that.

Hermione leaned closer. A kiss. A kiss, her minded repeated; a kiss would not hurt. A kiss with supple pink lips and more, more contact. Her hands screamed as they moved to Fleur's knees and then higher, to Fleur's thighs.

She wanted nothing more than to kiss Fleur and, at that very moment, she believed with her whole being that kissing Fleur would cause all her problems to disappear.

A kiss, her mind sang.

Then Fleur's hand ripped (to Hermione, the sensation was very much like ripping, tearing away what was supposed to be a part of her soul, leaving cold emptiness) from cupping her cheek. Suddenly, the veela was across the sofa.

Hermione shook, truly frightened at her thoughts. Fleur looked equally surprised. Not knowing what else to say, she resorted to logic.

"It-it, your skills, would be very useful in interrogations," Hermione sputtered.

Fleur nodded, face contorting into a mixture of fear, surprise and confusion, eyes roaming everywhere around the room except at Hermione. She coughed then stood up abruptly, hands shaking.

"Are you alright?"

"I just noticed the time," Fleur said quickly, gathering her materials, coat and scarf. "I have to return or else my headmistress will not be pleased."

Hermione saw her to the door.

"It was a true pleasure to be in your presence," Fleur was suddenly much more formal. "Surely I will see you around Hogwarts, hm?"

"Yes," Hermione squeaked, opening the door for her. "Goodnight, Fleur."

Fleur once again looked conflicted, leaning forward and then repealing just as quick.

"_Bonne soir._"

* * *

Saturday. November 15th, 2000

Hermione closed her eyes.

It was nighttime for her. Her vision blurred, darkening, waiting to descend into sleep.

* * *

Coming from her last class, Fleur turned towards the Black Lake. It was now as familiar a sight to her as her own cottage, which itself was a short walk from Hogwarts and overlooked the rippling shores.

At first, she thought it was a trick of the sun; certainly there wasn't a person walking on the lake's waters. Upon closer examination she determined it was, indeed, a lithe figure, making their way to the lake's center. How strange, she thought, walking on ice. She had not done so in many years.

Few people appreciated the silliness of it.

Fleur then watched, in confusion, as the figure dropped her wand, spread her arms and suddenly disappeared into the water. It was not a swimmer's jump; there was no practice to their descent. It seemed as if they were walking off a ledge. Horrified, Fleur broke into a jog, hoping that the figure would reappear.

They didn't.

Fleur panicked.

She drew her wand as her feet hit the ice. Crack. The water, no matter how cold, was still too warm to keep the ice frozen. Still, she ran as fast as the frictionless ice would let her. The water was too black to search for the presumably drowning stranger, so upon reaching the end of the ice bridge, she dove in.

Wand in hand, she summoned an orb of light. Not seeing the person, she swam deeper.

It was so cold. Frigid. Worse than the January months that left Hogwarts blanketed in gleaming snow. Despite the ache in her bones and the sharp contraction of her chest, Fleur concentrated on her task. She was about to stop and cast the bubble head charm when she noticed, barely, a mass of hair. Realizing that the girl, the stranger was indeed a girl, was not even struggling, she dove faster until she gripped the girl's shirt.

Pulling herself closer, she wrapped her arm around the girl's waist. A low, deep howl came from underneath her. Realizing that it was the sound of grindylows, Fleur panicked, remembering her failure in the Triwizard Tournament because of them. If she listened closely, she heard their movements; low clicks like laughs echoing in the water.

Even if the girl had been awake, there was no way for them to outswim grindylows. Fleur, burdened with another body, would be unsuccessful in any attempt to defend herself from them. Realizing she was out of options, she clung tighter to the lifeless body and thought of home, praying that it worked.

_Home, her kitchen, her cottage, a nice warm fire_, Fleur thought, conjuring the images until she felt the telltale nausea that came with apparating. They dropped like dead weight on her tiled floor.

The relief that flooded her was swiftly replaced with anger.

"Fool!" she spouted, sitting up quickly and brushing the hair out of the girl's face. "What in Merlin's name were you**—**"

Fleur froze as she brushed the final piece of hair away from the girl's face.

"_Hermione_?"

* * *

Thank you for reading. As usual, I encourage my readers to review or message me about their thoughts. You can PM me or visit me at .com. I'll be delighted to answer any questions. If the formatting is bothering you, please let me know as well so I can fix it. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Guys, yall are amazing. Seriously a source of my inspiration. I didn't expect to get that many reviews on my story, honest.

I think people would get a lot more out of this story if they knew that the title of the story is "Souvenirs" which is French for "memories." I'll leave you guys to guess how that all factors into the story. ;)

Also, a concern was brought up that the dates were a bit confusing so to keep it simple, if there are any time skips, it'll be bolded by MONTH, YEAR – brief description of time. ie May 1998 – End of 2nd Wizarding War

If you're in need of lighter, fluffy Fleurmione, I wrote a PWP fanfic called Breakfast. I'm trying not to flood the #fleurmione tag on tumblr with my art/gifs too.

Enjoy~

* * *

**Chapter**** 2: Silence and Skeletons**

* * *

**November 2000 – Present time**

Quickly grasping for her wand, Fleur pointed it at Hermione's mouth and muttered an incantation, drawing water out of the other witch's lungs. She had heard that it often left the person's mouth chronically dry for several hours after being charmed, but that was Hermione's own fault, slipping into the lake with such disregard,

Slipped? Who was she kidding? Hermione out of her own free will—Fleur couldn't detect the slightest hint of foul magic-dove into the lake.

Looking down at the soaked girl, examining her lithe and malnourished body, Fleur realized that she wasn't looking at the same Hermione she remembered. The one she remembered knotted her tie to precision, kept her clothes immaculate, and harbored bravery and determination in her brown, even when she had dark circles under them.

No. Fleur was looking at the skeleton of Hermione, as if someone had stolen all that Hermione was; brilliant, vivacious, bossy and ever so kind, leaving her wearing a ragged, oversized sweater and trousers. The dark circles under Hermione's eyes were almost as pronounced as her eyebrows, her hair long and shaggy, as though she had gone many months without cutting it. The weightlessness of the younger girl she was holding made Fleur uncomfortable.

At least Hermione was breathing now.

Fleur made quick business of undressing and redressing the sickly looking girl, her cold skin an unhealthy shade of olive . As soon as she was done, Fleur pushed her sofa as close to the fireplace as possible before laying Hermione down on it, cocooned in blankets.

_This is bad_, Fleur thought, _she should at least be shivering_.

Not knowing what else to do, Fleur went outside and gathered the larger, rounder rocks in her garden; she returned to the hearth and placed the rocks near the fire to absorb heat. After a few minutes, she picked them up with tongs and stuffed them under the sofa's cushions. With nothing left to do, she changed her own wet clothing and sent her owl to McGonagall.

_Waiting is the worst_, Fleur thought as she opened her textbook filled with notes. She looked over the comments from Transfiguration; the neat observations about the class and the students were written in flourished handwriting. She read through the first paragraph before her mind wandered back to Hermione.

Maybe she should call Pomfrey to make sure the girl was alright. Something inside Fleur went against the thought; the knowledge that Hermione would not like to make a big deal out of it. She had already messaged the headmistress after all, that should've been enough.

Even more worried than before, Fleur found herself checking Hermione's pulse. Slow, yet steady. Sparks danced on her fingertips as she made a trail from the young girl's pulse point on her neck to jaw then cheek. It had been so long since she had touched her, since she had felt warmth in such a way.

* * *

**January 1996 – Before the 2****nd**** Task**

For the sake of Fleur's reputation, it became an unspoken rule that they did not speak to one another in public. Hermione was also somewhat thankful; it saved her the embarrassment of eating her own words. "Loud and arrogant," she exclaimed to Harry and Ron the night after the opening feast if they had not been there. Truthfully, Fleur had the voice and grace of an angel.

"Just a pretty face," Hermione added, but she was well aware of Fleur's ambition, penchant for responsibility, innate intelligence and captivating wit.

They met eyes at breakfast the morning after their _incident_, Fleur nodding slightly in her direction. Noticing Hermione's gaze, Ron looked in the same direction.

"She's a 'ooker, isn't she?" Ron asked between large bites of sausage. "Then again, you don't like 'er much right, 'Mione?"

Hermione shook her head, gripping her fork tightly.

Fleur had said that she had enjoyed the attention but, sometimes, it was exhausting. While it boosted her confidence, it also intimidated her. With so many eyes looking at her, there was little room for mistakes. According to Fleur, it was "both a blessing and hex."

(A blessing and curse, Hermione corrected.)

"It is flattering when someone looks at me with such loving eyes," Fleur said. "But most of the boys? They look at me like an object. Like they crave to _own_ me."

Ron was looking at her as if she were an object. Hermione hated him for it.

A week passed—technically, it was only five days but who was counting?

Hermione was. She counted and took longer walks near the lake after supper. Hermione, who returned to her study desk disappointed every evening, was searching. Unfortunately all she found where curt nods and rare, fleeting smiles down the hallway.

She had seen Fleur, with her group of _soeurs,_ walking around the school grounds almost daily. They weren't hard to miss, always causing traffic with their form fitting blue uniforms. As usual, Fleur led the group of girls, but Fleur never saw her. Never looked at her as if she mattered.

Had anyone?

* * *

** November 2000 - Present time **

Hermione awoke with the familiar emptiness bearing down on her chest like dead weight. Before she opened her eyes, she knew she wasn't dead. Somehow, it made her even more tired than before.

_Maybe, maybe_, Hermione hoped, keeping her eyes closed,_ the past years have been an extremely long nightmare._ She'll wake up in the Gryffindor dorm room with Parvati and Lavender loudly discussing the latest gossip. Ron and Harry will greet her during breakfast, Dumbledore, Dobby, Fred, Moody and everyone who had died during the war will still be alive. She'll start her fifth year after Cedric Diggory won the Triwizard Cup; Voldemort would stay dead.

Upon opening her eyes, Hermione was unsurprisingly disappointed. She knew from the chill of her bones, the weakness in her muscles, that there was no way she was young again. Hermione was only, barely, twenty but she felt very old.

Voices resonated from another room, adjacent to the one she had been placed in. She recognized one of the voices to be Professor McGonagall's and the other was strangely familiar. Judging from the increasingly loud footsteps, they were making their way to her. Hermione sat up, wrapping a blanket around her body.

"Hermione." The unidentified voice called. Hermione turned in its direction and found herself staring at Fleur Delacour standing next to McGonagall. "You're up."

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said sternly as she proceeded closer to Hermione until the elderly woman was almost hovering over her. "Is there a reason why Miss Delacour found you in the lake?"

Hermione froze realizing the implications if the new headmistress discovered the true nature of her "swim".

"I was admiring the scenery when I tripped and fell in." It was a lame excuse full of holes. "The rocks gave out from underneath me."

"Did you see her fall in Miss Delacour?"

Hermione's eyes flickered to Fleur, whose eyes seemed glued to her. There was a long, pregnant silence as they held eye contact. Fleur was looking for an answer in her countenance but Hermione had none to give. These days, Hermione barely had the strength to look anything but indifferent.

Struggling. Always struggling. It never did end. So what if McGonagall knew the truth? Would it matter? _Why did she do it on purpose_, they would ask. Because she wanted to, because she wanted the pain to go away, because she was sick and tired of be—

"_Oui_." Fleur said suddenly, "I saw her fall in."

McGonagall, briefly, looked surprised.

"Well I hope we don't have another hiccup like this again Miss Granger. Please watch where you are going or else I will have to force this year's head girl to give you a tour of the school like you're a first year." She turned to Fleur. "Please see to it that Miss Granger finds her way to her quarters."

Fleur nodded. From the sofa, Hermione watched as Fleur walked her former Transfiguration professor to the door. It was dark outside.

"Hermione." She didn't answer. "Hermione, what happened? Why were you in the water?"

"Leave me alone." _Who was this talking with her voice_, she wondered.

"Herm.."

"I'm leaving."

At that, Hermione pushed herself up from the sofa. She made her way to the door without her shoes, coat or wand. Ah. That's right, she had dropped her wand in the lake. It didn't matter, nothing really mattered anymore.

"Why are you acting like this? Have you been hexed? Cursed?" Fleur asked as Hermione side stepped her to get to the door. "Hermione, _please_."

In another time and place, she would have been touched that Fleur cared so much, looked at her so much in one evening. But now, Hermione, tired and drained, just wanted to be left alone. As she began to take several strides on the cold, hardened ground, Fleur followed.

"I said leave me alone."

"The headmistress ordered me to make sure you are to get to your quarters."

Fleur was persistent. But, then again, so were Ron and Harry. So were her parents. The lot of them seemed to have given up on her. Fleur would give up soon, too.

They made their way into the castle, Fleur properly dressed in a fur coat, herself in pajamas. Students stopped and stared at them as they passed, some whispering to each other. Hermione ignored them completely and made her way to her room. Formerly, it belonged to Ravenclaw's head girl but it seemed like Hogwarts had redesigned after the war.

The war.

She looked over her shoulder, expecting Death Eaters to be in quick pursuit; her ears strained to hear the whizz of a curse barely missing her. She could remember, vividly, as she walked down the hallways, that the far corner was where they had laid the dead bodies. That just beyond the archway was where the Hufflepuff boy, not even sixteen yet, lay choking on his own blood as she screamed for the healers.

There had been so much death. They had won the war but at what cost?

It didn't matter. It was over. She was tired.

When Hermione reached her room, Fleur followed. It was minimally furnished with a bed and desk, room for trunks that she did not bring. Not caring, she fell onto the bed.

"You're really not going to talk, Hermione?" Fleur paused after she received no answer. "I had always thought you and I would have made great friends when you got older."

"Get out."

Fleur lit a candle with her wand.

"This is my room."

Fleur dragged a chair next to her bed.

"Leave."

Fleur sat down, defiant.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Fleur couldn't understand, _refused_ to understand, how this person could wear the outward appearance of Hermione while bearing no true resemblance to her. She wanted answers but received only silence. After an hour of trying to talk to the brunette, Fleur lost her will and simply sat in her chair, studying the stranger. Who was this girl—woman—and what had possessed her to change from the charming witch she was years ago? There were so many questions left to be answered.

Under the flickering glow, Fleur watched and waited until she was sure Hermione had fallen asleep.

Minerva McGonagall would have answers.

It was half past eleven but she knew that the headmistress was up late these days. She softly knocked at the door; Minerva greeted her shortly.

"Tea, Fleur?"

"No thank you."

"You are here about Hermione?"

"Yes, Minerva." Fleur sighed, "I do not understand what has gotten into her. What exactly is she doing here?"

Minerva sipped at her tea.

"I will not delude you of the truth, Fleur. We do not know what is going on with Ms. Granger. She was one of Hogwart's brightest students."

"Did something happen? During the war. I had heard that she was..."

"...tortured in the Malfoy Manor. You are correct. However, according to Ron and Harry, her behavior started a few months after the war ended. They've talked to the best wizards and torn through books, but nothing seems to be magically wrong with her."

"So they just decided to send her here?" Fleur was taken aback. She thought the three had been inseparable.

"Her parents did. Harry and Ron had other duties that needed tending to," _What could be more important than a friend's well being_, Fleur wondered incredulously. "Her parents, muggles, did not know where else to turn. They don't understand. They wrote to us in hopes of finding a way to...cure...whatever sickness she has."

"However, I am wondering if Hogwarts is the proper place for her." Minerva's gaze, which had been distant and unreadable, suddenly turned piercing, "Did she really slip into the lake, Fleur?"

Suddenly protective of Hermione, Fleur steeled herself. If the headmistress found out the truth to Hermione's actions, she'd probably send her to a mental institution.

"Yes, she slipped in. I don't think she has eaten much. She might have been misjudging the size of her steps." She had lost Hermione once; it wasn't going to happen again. This was her chance, "I'll see to it that she eats."

"I do not think eating is her problem," Minerva said calmly. "I know that you are busy with your work here at Hogwarts, but can I inconvenience you to get Hermione settled? She will be finishing her final year here. Allowing her to settle down to her routine will probably improve her spirits."

"I'll see to it to the best of my abilities." Fleur nodded, determined.

* * *

**January 1996 -Triwizard Tournament Before the 2nd Task**

The next time she had stumbled upon Hermione was in the library, on a Hogsmeade day. Tired of swim practices-thats what the howling egg was trying to say- she had refused the invitation of some seventh year Hogwarts boys for a day of fun in town. That was how she found herself in Hogwarts' expansive library, browsing for something that would catch her eye. They lacked the new Witches' Fashion Guide for 1996, so she made due with the older version.

Fleur spotted Hermione in the herbology section after picking up her book.

"_Bonjour_." Fleur said suddenly when she was within arm's length of the young witch.

Hermione visibly jumped, a fresh scowl growing on her face until she looked up and, after brushing away her dark locks, realized it was Fleur_._

_You have a beautiful face_, Fleur thought in French, _why hide it behind your hair_.

"Sorry," Hermione sighed. "I thought you were Ron with another one of his scare tactics."

Fleur was offended. "I know he has yet to go through puberty but, surely, his voice is not as high pitched as mine."

The veela side of her hissed at the mention of the flame haired boy. She ignored it, choosing to focus in on Hermione's laugh and eyeroll.

"What interests you in the herbology section?"

"We have a potions test this coming Thursday. I'm looking into the life cycles of gillyweeds to see when it is best to brew one."

Fleur hummed, examining the book Hermione was holding.

"Thatcher will do you little good when it comes to life cycles of a plant, _mon cherie_." Fleur bent down and searched for the book she was thinking of. She made a sound of delight when she found it and promptly exchanged it for the one Hermione was holding. "Holdenback was an herbology professor at Beauxbaton many years ago but he was known for his potion brewing skills as well. I think you'll find that the information about plants in his book pertains more to potion making than pure herbology, non?"

Fleur waited patiently as Hermione, with practiced expertise, located the plant she was looking for in the index and then flipped to it.

It was a magical thing to watch those dark brown eyes light first time Fluer saw it happen, they were sliding across the ice when Hermione daringly spun herself. The look of delight that crossed her face was thrilling and sent chills down Fleur's back. The second time Hermione's eyes lit up the same way was in the Griffindor commons in the split second when Hermione looked up at her as Fleur cupped her face. There was vulnerability, curiosity and _trust_ in those pools of brown.

This, Fleur counted, would be the third time. She watched as Hermione's eyes widened in glee as she read Holdenback's excerpt. Then, there it was! Briefly, that flicker of fire coming from her eyes, so much happiness and joy towards some ink and paper.

(Secretly, Fleur wondered if, just by looking at her, Hermione's eyes could light up too. How shameful it was to be jealous of a book.)

Fleur kept track of all those small moments, counted the fifth, seventh, tenth, twenty-third time it happened. Hermione's eyes come alive when she _feels_ and perhaps, that was where the magic was; in those moments when the young, rational, logical witch let her emotions bubble to the surface.

* * *

**November 2000- Present Time**

At the break of dawn, armed with Hermione's school supplies list, Fleur went shopping. It cost her a week's pay-those "to die for" enchanted scarves would not be calling her closet home this month-but she convinced herself it was worth it. She made quick work at Hogsmeade and returned just in time for breakfast.

Hermione was up when Fleur returned to the lone dorm room, levitating a trail of supplies, clothes and food. Neatly, Fleur arranged the necessary advanced academic books on Hermione's desk, her uniforms and ties next to them. The rest, toiletries and miscellaneous items, went into a drawer beneath Hermione's bed.

"From what I can tell, you didn't have supplies," Or even clothes for that matter, what had Hermione been thinking? "I went out and got you the basics this morning."

Breakfast landed itself on the nightstand as Fleur was taking a seat.

"Muffins? Toast and marmalade?" Hermione turned so that her back was facing Fleur. "Not even tea?" she mumbled, knowing the answer.

Silence.

It being Sunday, Hermione didn't have classes, but Fleur wondered if she did, would she display the usual finesse as she did years ago? Probably not. The girl she knew then and the woman she knew now were vastly different. Likewise, who she had be **five** years ago was different from who she was now.

_It's quite strange how time passes_, Fleur mused. She couldn't remember how or when the change took place; how she had transitioned from being too thin and bony at the age of thirteen to the developed and capable candidate for the Triwizard Tournament. It seemed magical almost, looking in the mirror one day and finding that her knobby knees had straightened, hips and chest widened, lips suddenly full and kissable.

Puberty had treated her well.

And how delightful it was to watch Hermione grow during her stay at Hogwarts. Fleur reminisced. Her curves had already begun to fill in when they had first met and, by the end of the school year, many students had begun noticing Hermione's emergence into a womanhood. Fleur definitely had.

But so did Ron. Fleur's fists clenched.

Years had passed and, from the looks of it, Hermione worked her hardest to reverse the glorious effects of puberty. _Where had her Hermione gone_, Fleur wondered. _Is she still there?_ Would Fleur pursue Hermione's health if she knew, for a fact, that the Hermione now could be infinitely different?

She liked to think so.

The day passed with Hermione laying in bed and Fleur, by extension, attached to the chair. She refused to leave, fearing that Hermione would attempt another stunt like the one at the lake. Fleur busied herself with her own research and paperwork. Hermione busied herself with burrowing in bed.

At some point in the day when Fleur had gotten tired of reading her own academic papers, she attempted to read Hermione chapters from the required list of textbooks. However, Fleur found herself falling asleep on the first chapter of_ Advanced Transfiguration_.

The room quickly became a prison to her; the walls flat and gray lacking decorations. It even sported it's own version of a terrible cellmate. It wasn't until the afternoon that Hermione moved from her bed to grab a piece of stale toast. Fleur tried to make conversation.

"Found your appetite, have you?" Fleur smiled. Finally, progress. "Would you like to eat something different?"

Silence.

Fleur returned to reading the second chapter of Hermione's potions textbook aloud hoping her voice would drown the deafening silence.

Shortly after sunset, Fleur left Hermione's dorm to bathe and retrieve a thick blanket and pillow, refusing to spend another night on the wooden chair. She took her time but didn't dare to leave Hermione alone for more than two hours even if she did use a binding charm on the door to keep it locked.

Not surprisingly though, Hermione was still in bed, asleep, when Fleur returned. The tea and sausage had been pecked at..

Tired and drained, Fleur lit a candle and made a makeshift sleeping bag with her pillow and blanket. She fell asleep to the sound of the jobberknolls singing.

* * *

_It has been a week since Hermione's arrival and nothing has happened_, Fleur thought as she laid down on the ground for another night of restless sleep. Each day would begin with Fleur waking early and going down to the Great Hall to fetch breakfast. The students entertained her with questions about Hermione; she replied with humor and sarcasm. It was somewhat surprising to see Hermione dressed when she returned the first day but it wasn't like Fleur had expected to wrangle her into her uniform...

Maybe she did.

However, it was a pleasant surprise to see that Hermione was willing to do something besides lay in bed. Or maybe she was waiting for Fleur to tire of her and then escape? Fleur banished the thought; she wasn't going to get tired.

During the week, Fleur shadowed Hermione around from class to class, from waking until dusk but they hadn't spoken a word the first night. According to the professors, Hermione didn't participate in class either, unless she was called on, and any attempt at small talk was dismissed with a polite but frank excuse.

Hermione barely ate, barely studied and barely slept. Fleur spent her days observing the young witch, wondering just how to help her. But how could she help when she didn't even know what the problem was? It was like trying to give a potion to someone who had yet to identify their illness.

Fleur grew frustrated from remaining stagnant, but refused to break. Her research was falling behind. Any plans with professors or social outings were canceled; it seemed as if her life had stalled and instead started revolving around Hermione...like it did years before.

Revolved was a strong word for what occurred between them. They became fast friends; Fleur found that she bonded with Hermione better than all the girls at her own school. They shared a common interest in school and often studied together in a discreet corner of the library; she could talk to Hermione about a certain topic for hours at a time without feeling bored. There wasn't a moment of shy, needless chitchat, no need to hide under a false smile—

—Hermione whimpered.

Fleur tore herself from her thoughts and sat upright.

Hermione had finally broken the silence. She gave another whimper as Fleur stumbled to her side. The candle that Fleur lit had burned out long ago, she could barely make out Hermione before her eyes readjusted to the moonlight filtering through the window. The other witch had a pained look across her face, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Hermione?" Fleur called, but she didn't respond, still asleep and obviously having a nightmare. Hesitantly, she gripped Hermione gently and shook her shoulders.

"It's going to be okay," Fleur whispered. Hermione's crying grew louder. What had started as a whimper morphed into a sob. Hermione shook her head side to side, uttering the word "no" repeatedly, arms jerking as if they were being restrained.

"Hermione, it's a nightmare. Please, wake up. _Please_." For a second, the witch stilled.

Then she screamed.

It happened so fast. Fleur was, just a moment ago, leaning over Hermione holding her shoulders trying to wake her up and then suddenly she was upright, eyes wide with fear and in panic, face inches away from Fleur's. In her shock, Fleur found her hands cupping Hermione's face, thumbing away the tears as a gesture of comfort.

"Its oka—"

"_Don't touch me!_" Hermione shoved Fleur away with a startling amount of strength for a girl who had been starving herself. Not willing to let the moment of rare vulnerability go, Fleur rebounded and entered Hermione's personal space again.

"Please, can't you tell me what is wrong." She poured all the strength she had into her voice, trying to sound comforting but demanding, "Hermione, don't block me out."

This only infuriated Hermione more and, once again, she shoved Fleur away, still crying.

"Pleas— "

"Leave me alone!" Pain, there was so much pain in her voice. "Just piss off!"

"Let me help yo— "

"—you don't know me, you don't know what I've been through!" Hermione swung her legs to the side of the bed facing Fleur and tried to push away again, but Fleur caught both of Hermione's arms by the wrists. "How can you expect to help me when you—"

"I don't know!" Fleur raised her voice to match Hermione's in intensity; the frustration of the previous week poured out. "I don't know what has happened or why you are this way but I'm here and if you would just talk to—"

"—and then what?!" Anger punctuated every word and every movement as she tried escaping from Fleur's iron-tight grip, "How do you plan to fix _this_?"

"By _trying_," Fleur yelled, "I'm not going to give up or leave. I don't care if I have to sleep on this blasted floor and follow you around for the rest of the bloody school year, I'm going to keep trying and I'm not going to stop until you're better!"

"I didn't ask for your help!" Hermione spat, "I don't need help!"

Fleur held onto Hermione's wrists tighter as the brunette bellowed out invectives and tried to regain control. This went on for several moments, until Fleur watched as Hermione's expression changed from pure anger to frustration and then finally breaking from unsuccessfully wrenching her hands away. The mask of indifference began crack and then fall to pieces.

All at once, Hermione's body gave out on her. Shoulders slumping, once angry, waving arms devoid of conviction; her forehead fell onto Fleur's shoulder.

"Why couldn't you have let me go?" Hermione sobbed, "I'm tired, Fleur. So tired."

This was the first time she had heard Hermione call her name. It made her heart ache.

"I know." Fleur whispered, leaning her head so that it rested against Hermione's. Her voice lowered as if telling a secret, "_Ma cherie_ I know that you are tired. But even when you're tired, you're still going to school. And even if you walk like a skeleton, delicate and about to shatter, I know that you are trying."

_I can see it in your eyes. The flame is still there._

"I'm here, Hermione."

Arms reached up and encircled her waist, holding onto her as if she were driftwood.

"I'll find a way." Fleur swallowed, "I'll find a way to make you happy again."

* * *

I plan on updating weekly so don't fret! In other news, this was originally MUCH longer but my betas suggested that I leave out a good portion because it would help pace the story. The next chapter will be much longer.

Now, let me know what you think! What exactly IS Fleur doing at Hogwarts? As a matter of fact, she's even on first name basis with THE McGonagall. So many questions! Let me know what you're thinking!


	3. Chapter 3

Nearly uploaded the entire story's outline and updated the fic with it which would've been a big ass spoiler.

I tried to reply to most of the reviews that I got from the first two chapters, I apologize if I didn't get to yours, know that I appreciate each and everyone. You guys are absolutely amazing. I had no idea the Fleurmione fandom even contained so many people. After all these years!

Please enjoy~

* * *

**Chapter 3: How to Laugh**

* * *

**June 1996 - End of the Triwizard Tournament**

"I am very disappointed," Madame Maxime said in French, her large figure looming over Fleur. The girls of Beauxbaton stood behind their headmistress, eying Fleur with varying levels of pity and disgust. "I hope your injuries will heal by tomorrow. We plan to leave Hogwarts with as much grace and culture as we came in with and I wish for none of my students to _limp _by like you did through the tournament."

Clenching her fists, Fleur nodded. The crowd parted ways for Hogwarts' nurse, Pomfrey, to come to her bedside. Naturally, the headmistress's facial expression changed growing warmer and more caring.

"Madame Pomfrey," the female giant said in an exasperatingly sweet tone. "Fleur is like a daughter to me and it pains myself and her sisters dearly that we see her in this state."

"Now don't you worry headmistress, she has sustained nothing more than some deep cuts from the tree roots and a bad case of lepsog rash." The nurse set down the tray of draughts she had been carrying on the nightstand next to Fleur. "If you take these once every two hours, your leg will be good as new tomorrow."

"_Merci_, madam." Fleur said, genuinely thankful that the nurse interrupted when she did. Merlin knows how long Madame Maxime planned to reprimand her."For the antidote…and the room."

Pomfrey smiled, soothingly putting a hand on Fleur's shoulder, "I know you are quite the attention getter Ms. Delacour. After the tournament, I supposed you could very much use some privacy."

Fleur smiled again, this time weaker. She was given some privacy but with seclusion came her schoolmates and headmistress, giving them more of an opportunity to remind her of her failures. Behind the façade of manners and elegance, there was a core of hostility and ruthlessness at Beauxbaton that no one spoke of.

"We shall be going then," Madame Maxime announced— beneath the glitter and glamour, Fleur knew it was a command. "Good day to you madam Pomfrey. Fleur, get well soon."

Her peers greeted her and the nurse with faked enthusiasm and the murmurs of gossip began almost as instantly as their backs turned. Pomfrey exited soon after, leaving Fleur to her own misery.

And what misery it was. She couldn't save her own sister—damn giddylows—and was the first to fail in their Third Task. In the wake of Cedric Diggory's death, she felt nothing but despair for herself and that angered her even more. She had fought against the prejudice that was whispered in the hallways of her school, words like _half breed_ and _chimera_ spoken in hushed breaths. Fleur used it as fuel; she used those words to smile in the speaker's face when she succeeded as the top student, year after year.

_Discipline, manners and elegance in all things magical_, that was Beauxbaton's motto. So Fleur became that very image since she first heard the first mutterings of those insults. Her first year there was miserable, being far from the warmth of her family and made worse by the name calling. In shame, she did not dare to write to her mother about the bullying.

How could she?

Her family, at best, was modest. The money that her parents had made went directly into Beauxbaton's lavishly expensive tuition. She tried, repeatedly, time and time again to convince her parents that other wizarding schools were an option, but her mother was adamantly against it.

"You're a veela, my child." Maman said, lovingly brushing blond locks away from ten year old Fleur's face. "Beauxbaton is the only all-girls wizarding school in Europe and I want you to learn in an environment where you will not be harassed by the constant attention of men."

"But the money…" Fleur gestured to her mother's old, worn out robes, "Could be spent on new clothes. Gabrielle, she wanted a new doll…"

"…Oh Fleur." Her mother hugged her, "You are too young to be worrying of such things. Clothes can be bought new, but your education is priceless cannot. And with a fine education, you can one day afford to buy Papa and myself some very fine clothes."

Fleur promised herself she would be the very best; she promised her family that she would to make the Delacour family proud as they saw her off to her first year. How ungrateful would it be then, to owl her mother of all the awful things that were spouted about her; how many of the girls snorted at her because of her blood heritage; how she cried at night because she was alone and miserable.

Instead, Fleur turned her depression onto books and dances, singing and whatever else Beauxbaton students were trained in; she buried herself so deep in her studies until people began taking notice. Words around her began to change from teasing to contempt and then to respect; she made friends. And when she finally lifted her head from thick, French tomes, she realized that the school had recognized her as one of their own.

But for all that she had accomplished, for all the practices and training that she had done, she couldn't measure up to the likes of Viktor Krum and Harry Potter. Even Cedric Diggory, coming from the supposedly weakest house of Hogwarts, surpassed her. Her chance at a thousand galleons, to finally have the opportunity to show her family that their efforts were not in vain, was throttled.

She had failed.

Failed her own sister. Her family. Her school.

And in all her failure, the cut that hurt the most was the one when she was embraced by her family. Her Maman and Papa, so proud that she was Beauxbaton's champion, still wrapped their arms around her when she shivered from the cold water of Black Lake. Gabrielle, cursing giddylows as her small, thin frame leaned into Fleur, telling her she could've been the first out of the water had it not been for those creatures. Again they encompassed her with open arms, asking about her health moments before Harry's reappearance with the cup and Cedric's dead body.

She wanted punishment, wanted angry stares, contempt in the voices and gritted teeth. They were handed out on a daily basis at Beauxbaton should a anyone fail to embody grace, style and elegance. Insults whispered in the hallways and stolen cloths, Fleur was used to it when she failed (or excelled too much. Jealousy was not uncommon). But warmth? Acceptance in the face of defeat? Fleur did not know how to deal with such kindness, even from her own family.

Fleur fell asleep, miserable, only to be woken by a dark haired girl standing at the door.

Aubrey Fontaine.

Clad in Beauxbaton's uniform, the girl was the epicenter of Fleur's misery during her starting years; much of the bullying came from her. Aubrey's parents were longtime friends of Madame Maxime's and donated glorious amounts of gold to the school. Aubrey was expected to be the school's star student. Naturally, they became rivals.

"You know, half breed." Aubrey made her way to Fleur's bedside. "There are rumors going about the school."

"I do not wish to gossip with you." Fleur said scathingly in French. "Leave."

Aubrey sat down, near her injured foot. "They say the Triwizard Cup was bewitched." The girl's hand settled on Fleur's kneecap, trailing downwards. "Maybe that's why you were chosen."

Fleur grew nervous when Aubrey's hand came to stop at her bandages but refused to let it show. "What are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is…" Pain shot from her injuries up to her stomach as Aubrey's hand wrapped around her wounds and squeezed. Fleur felt nauseous. "Maybe, the cup was bewitched to choose the weakest of us. So Harry Potter could win."

She couldn't fight back, not in her weakened, medicated state.

"You had the easiest dragon." Aubrey gripped even harder, "That's how you barely passed the first challenge. And judging from your latest performances, I don't think you were equipped to handle the other tasks. Surely, the cup would have chosen someone more fitting. Don't you agree, my darling little _chimera_?"

She hated that name. It referenced a creature whose body came from two different species. In the wizarding world it was just as bad of a slur as mudblood, if not worse. At least mudbloods were fully human; many centaurs and werewolves were outcasts because they were not seen human, but, rather, bestial. Fleur knew that if it weren't for the veela's thrall and human-like appearance, her people would have probably faced similar treatment.

"Your kind is disgusting." Aubrey spat, nails digging into Fleur's raw skin. She could feel herself bleed, her cuts reopening and blood seeping into her bandages. "Abusing your powers to prey on wizards. But now, at least, all of Beauxbaton has seen how pathetic you really are."

Fleur bit her bottom lip trying not to cry out in pain, but this only spurred Aubrey to press harder. Her breathing grew shallow, heart beating harder and harder until she heard it. She had never felt anything this painful in her life; the burning that came from the tree root's poison was being overshadowed by pure pain.

To Fleur's relief, the door opened quietly. Aubrey's hand relaxed.

"Hermione." She gasped at the bushy haired girl standing at the doorway. "I wasn't expecting you."

"I'm sorry, Pomfrey didn't mention you would be having company." Hermione looked between her and Aubrey. "I'll visit you another time, Fleur?"

"It's alright. I was just about to leave." Aubrey said, standing up and narrowing her eyes at Hermione. She aggressively bumped shoulders with the brunette on her way out the door. "Good day to you both."

"Your friend is a little strange," Hermione observed, making her way to Fleur's bedside and sitting down.

Barely working up enough strength, Fleur snickered. "I wouldn't call her a friend."

Hermione sucked in a breath, looking at Fleur's leg. "You're bleeding. The roots of the maze, they were lepsog roots, you're not supposed to be bleeding like this for so long." The younger witch looked closer, obviously noticing the hand shaped blood print.

"I'll be fine." Fleur tried to smile.

Hermione studied her curiously for a moment. Fleur could see the gears in her head turning, pulling pieces together. "The girl…did this to you, Fleur?"

"What's done is done, ma cherie." They met eyes. Hermione knew.

"Pomfrey. I'm going to get Pomfrey. A-and Dumbledore."

"It is my last day at Hogwarts," Fleur pleaded. "Allow me a night of peace?"

Hermione's face steeled, her eyebrows furrowing in anger, lips drawn into a thin line. Fleur knew of her need for justice, knew that it pained the girl to let something so wrong go without retribution. But incurring any attention that would be negative towards Beauxbaton's and Aubrey's image, Fleur did not dare to attempt. Her eyes begged at Hermione's pools of brown until she relented, sighing.

"At the least, let me change your dressing?" Hermione insisted, breaking their silence.

Fleur nodded. "More can be found in the nightstand drawer."

* * *

**November 2000 - Present time**

Hermione woke to Fleur's arms wrapped protectively around her midsection, her back pressed against Fleur's front. She froze, for a moment, remembering the night's transgressions. They must've fallen asleep after her outburst.

Her chest felt lighter. It was slightly easier to breath.

Hermione turned to the blonde, finding her face hidden in a mass of golden white hair, and shook her gently. Fleur groaned, annoyed.

"Fleur." She shook harder. "Fleur. It's Monday."

The hand that was resting over Hermione's stomach came to brush the hair away from Fleur's face. Hermione watched as Fleur rubbed tiredness out of her eyes, blinking slowly until the realization came upon her that she was in Hermione's bed.

"'Ermione! _Merde_, what's going on?" Fleur eyes widened, withdrawing her other hand that had tucked itself beneath Hermione's waist. Her French accent became more apparent in her panicked state. She tried to pull away but the bed, being a twin size, was small and Fleur nearly fell off.

The blonde found herself in the dilemma of either being too close to Hermione or almost collapsing onto the floor and shifted uncomfortably between the two. "My apologies, 'Eermione. I am trying not to fall off the bed."

Hermione nodded. It was almost comical to watch Fleur's struggle in rising from the bed without falling or invading her personal space. _Almost_ comical. But the moment was short lived and the tiredness that had temporarily receded in her heart returned with full force as Fleur managed to pull away and then, promptly, stand up.

Fleur cleared her throat.

"It was not my intention to sleep in your bed. It won't happen again."

Hermione nodded, sitting up from her bed. Fleur threw her scarf over her robes. "I'll go and get breakfast."

She disappeared out the door in a brisk pace.

Hermione had to force herself to stand up and put on her uniform. The scar that Bellatrix had inflicted upon her years ago was burning with more intensity than usual. She tried to put pressure on the wound but it hurt even more. Frustrated, Hermione pulled her sleeves down to cover it and began making her bed. Noticing Fleur's blankets sprawled on the floor, she decided to fold the thin duvet, setting it and the pillow at the foot of the bed when she was done.

She felt…ungrateful.

It had been a long time since she had felt anything besides exhaustion. For a moment, her need for the world to stop spinning so that she could fall to her feet and cry was replaced with strange appreciation for Fleur. No wonder the blonde had slept so peacefully in her bed; she had been sleeping on the floor for the past week.

Hermione left to the lavatory, contemplating the peculiarity of feeling something besides pain. When she returned, Fleur was seated, smiling, with breakfast laid out on her nightstand. Usually she would be changed, laying tiredly in bed as Fleur stepped in, levitating a trail of food. The blonde would set out the spread and Hermione would nibble on the tea and toast offered to her.

Shyly, Hermione came up to Fleur, who looked at her with surprise. She couldn't find the words—or energy—to speak, as if her vocal cords had knotted themselves in her efforts. So, she took a piece of toast and spread apricot marmalade on it. Fleur, realizing Hermione's efforts, withdrew her wand from her pocket and tapped it thrice on the only chair in the room until it duplicated itself.

"Care to join me?" Fleur asked pleasantly, bright blue eyes shining in the morning sunlight. She asked even though they both knew it was Hermione who made—and failed—the effort first. But that didn't seem to matter to the older witch.

Hermione sat down. Fleur poured her tea. They ate in silence.

_Why is it so hard to talk._

Maybe it was because she had spent so many months pushing people away. The only voice she was accustomed to was the one that spoke with caustic indifference, trying to create space between the other person and herself so she could heal. And now? Now, something had changed.

Fleur sipped on her tea, seeming absolutely content with Hermione's silent company. Perhaps that was why Hermione was trying so hard to speak, why her solidified vocal cords were softening… Fleur, who was smiling happily and eying her with care even when she wouldn't talk, sat comfortably beside her. Even when she had done nothing for Fleur, here she was.

There was no expectation for Hermione to make talk. When she made eye contact with Fleur, looking into deep blue eyes, they said _it's okay_, and _I'll be here_.

Hermione swallowed her tea. Fleur wiped her hands with her napkin, signifying that it was time for them to leave for morning classes.

_Now or never._

"Thank you." Her voice! She could hear her own voice! And it was hers!

Fleur looked as if she was about to cry, bashfully smiling at her.

"My pleasure."

Thus, a new routine was formed. They would have breakfast together every morning; Fleur learned that she preferred sausage over eggs, strawberry jam over any marmalade. The rest of the day went, as usual, with Fleur escorting her to and from each class. Sometimes Hermione would tire of her room and lead them astray to the library. Fleur would follow, not too closely behind, and sit at a different table. Hermione never felt as if she were being stalked though and that was particularly curious.

The first week, when Fleur had insisted on being by her side, felt suffocating. Hermione wanted the blonde to disappear. Now, after her breakdown, Fleur's company was almost inviting; her simple existence was enough to convince Fleur she was trying.

A part of her, she wouldn't admit it to another soul or Fleur herself, was glad the girl ghosted about her. Some days, she felt tired to her bones; that taking another step would break her. In those days, she felt as if, even if she did fall, Fleur would be there to help her up. There would be no judgment; Hermione felt no shame being weak. There were no expectations in Fleur's eyes.

Her scar burned with less intensity as November bled into December. Fleur would be there when she woke from her nightmares, screaming and crying. Fleur would hold her in bed, hand gently rubbing her back in a rhythm that put her back to sleep. Some sleepless nights, Fleur would sing a soothing lullaby in a language that Hermione did not understand—Veelaria, the language of her people, possibly.

Fleur would sing. Hermione would listen until the deep restlessness in her soul, too, was calmed into a dreamless sleep.

On some rare occasions, Fleur would fall asleep on her bed after consoling her. But she was up before Hermione woke. The only reason Hermione knew Fleur had been there was because the pillow next to her would smell of lavender, vanilla sunlight.

It smelled familiar.

It smelled settling.

It smelled good.

* * *

**January 2001 - Present time**

The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was young, roughly Fleur's age. He had curly brown hair and walked with a finesse that engaged a great deal of girls in his class. He insisted that everyone call him Chad; he was from America and spoke with the accent of someone from the Boston. Until that day, Hermione was never abruptly called upon in his class; she answered questions when asked and left before he had a chance to make conversation with her.

Chad, as part of his advanced class, had a routine of picking out students, at random, to duel with him once a week. That week, the student was her. He boasted that he was one of the best Aurors in the States; that defeating him would earn the student's house fifty points. No one had before, but the Gryffindors in the classroom held their breath as he looked at the piece of paper and called;

"Hermione Granger." Chad looked mildly surprised, himself. "Ms. Granger, will you step up to the front of the class? Wand at the ready Ms. Granger."

She complied; holding the wand Fleur had bought her, and faced him.

Hermione didn't want to do it. But there were expectations in the eyes of the class, to see the war veteran who fought Voldemort face their professor. Even Chad looked excited. She couldn't find her voice, the one to decline the duel or to even forfeit.

Hermione's stomach turned as she bowed.

Chad led the duel, firing spells that Hermione deflected with ease. It seemed as if she continued her defense that the class would end and the duel would be called a draw. But as Hermione grew more proficient with her defenses, Chad increased the amount of hexes and spells sent in her direction. He was testing her, testing the waters with her until Hermione was at her limit.

The ground began to shift beneath her, every time she closed her eyes, she could faintly recall the battle at Hogwarts.

_No._ She thought, summoning a wall of fire to redirect a curse. _I've come so far. Not again_.

Hermione tried to concentrate on the students, on the classroom and how utterly harmless everything was but Chad was relentless_. _A stunning spell broke her defensive shield and zoomed past her ear, barely missing her. Flashes of the war would bleed into line of sight until she could hear the wailing of Death Eaters. She couldn't see Chad anymore—nor could she remember who he was.

_A Death Eater, maybe. No. No! Yes._

_Certainly. Yes. A Death Eater._

In her mind, the duel between teacher and student became a battle, a war, a fight for her life. For the lives lost. For Dobby. For Mad Eye Moody and Dumbledore. For Fred_._

For Fred, whose untimely departure tore at his family. For Fred, who was supposed to be George's partner in crime. For Fred, whose death dug at Ron and kept him fighting and tracking Death Eaters until Hermione couldn't keep up.

Hermione quickly shifted into offensive spells, firing them wordlessly in rapid succession. Chad, the enemy, her mind said, tried to fight back, but Hermione kept spellcasting at an alarming rate until he was unable to do anything but call for defensive wards.

"_Hermione._" Fleur's voice called out for her.

Fleur.

Hermione turned to the woman who stood at the doorway of the classroom. Fleur looked as if she had been calling Hermione's name for some time now. She probably had. Her eyes glazed across her fellow peers in various states of shock and fear. Chancing a glance back at her professor; Chad was on the ground, barely clutching his wand and breathing heavily. Still, every time she blinked, she could see blood stained uniforms and empty eyes, staring into her sou.

Trying to act calm, Fleur waved to her. "Class is over. Come along, cherie."

Hermione tried to focus on the ground and the movement of her limbs as she wordlessly gathered materials and headed for the door. Fleur's arms tucked underneath her own and they staggered through the hallway and into the courtyard. Hermione wanted to throw up; memories of the war still flooding her vision each time she closed her eyes.

Upon turning the corner, Hermione whimpered, gripping onto Fleur tighter. She was looking upon the spot where Fred died.

"This way," Fleur commanded, "My cottage is closer."

Fleur walked, Hermione stumbled trying to hang on to the familiar voice that was encouraging her to walk and breath.

The halls felt too cramped as if they were moving in on her. She began to hyperventilate and it didn't stop when they reached the perimeter of the castle. Even the sky felt too close, the snow too white and pulling her into the ground.

"Almost there, Hermione."

She didn't understand. The cottage seemed so far off.

They were a few yards from the castle when Fleur pulled out her wand and apparated.

Hermione dropped onto the floor, clutching her knees and trying to breathe when they reappeared in Fleur's home. The whole room drummed to her heartbeat, pulsing as if it was about to cave in. She could hear her name being called, but it came from every direction. Fleur's arms came to wrap around her and she clung onto them, gasping for air that would not enter her lungs until the world turned dark.

Like months before, Hermione woke to the conversation of two people feeling helplessly empty. This time though, she could make out the voices to be that of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Chad, and Fleur.

She was laying in Fleur's bed, tucked in with covers over her. Hermione knew because it smelled of lavender, vanilla sunlight.

(It smelled familiar, settling and good.)

"I appreciate your concern, Professor Smith, but I assure you that Ms. Granger does not need to be brought to the infirmary."

"She's a maniac." Chad said, "The look in her eyes when we were dueling…I think she needs help. Mentally. A kid like that should've never fought in a war."

"With all due respect, professor, Ms. Granger is a young adult and one of the strongest witches I know." Fleur was…defending her? "I am sure any problems she is having, she is dealing with."

"Do you really believe that this won't happen again?"

"I believe in Ms. Granger's ability to rectify a situation." Fleur's voice turned sugary sweet, "But,_ Chad_, to ensure her and your other students' safety, please do not call on her to duel again."

"Okay…" Chad's voice turned out of tune, as if he were daydreaming. "By the way—Ms. Delacour? Fleur? Can I call you Fleur? Next weekend, Saturday...would you like to go to Hogsmeade?"

_Americans. They completely lack subtly._

"I am quite busy, Professor Smith." Fleur stated, "But I will go, under the condition that you do not report today's incident with Ms. Granger to the headmistress, _oui_? You understand she is already very stressed?"

Fleur's veela charms were in full affect, her voice turning smooth and velvety. Hermione bit her tongue, angry.

"O-Of course. I don't want to upset the headmistress with such a trivial incident." Chad said, breathless. Hermione could almost imagine his face turning an ugly shade of pink as he spoke. "I'll see you soon then…Fleur."

Their voices were getting distant then she heard the front door open.

"Good night."

"Good night, Professor Smith."

"Please, call me Chad."

"Have a good evening, Chad."

Hermione could hear Fleur's soft footsteps tap against the creaking wood, approaching her until the door to the bedroom rustled open. She was more than agitated when the blonde stepped inside, smiling worriedly at her.

"Are you alright?"

Hermione snapped, hating that Fleur was sacrificing more of her time and energy for her. Time and energy that had gone to waste; she had been trying so hard but let the visions control her. "You didn't have to go on a date with him."

Fleur shrugged, indifferent. "A night out in Hogsmeade in exchange for his silence. Does it bother you?"

"No." The younger witch gripped the bed sheets.

"Are you…jealous?" Fleur asked, "Jealous that I have a date with your charming professor?"

Hermione looked away in disgust. "No." She fingered the sheets, feeling its smoothness. "I don't want you to give up more of your time for me than you already have."

A pause. Her vocal cords loosened.

"I don't know why you keep trying with me." _What did I do to gain your graces?_ She wanted to ask. "Sometimes, I feel like a lost cause."

Fleur smiled again, brighter. She took a seat on the bed, across from Hermione.

"I recall…some time ago…A young witch, whom I befriended, came to my side to comfort me when I was at my lowest." Fleur's eyes sparkled fondly. "She was a curious one, with very bushy hair. But also very beautiful and loyal; one of the smartest, most talented witches I know. Towards the end of my final year at school, I had failed some very important tasks and I was very, very sad. And while all she did was change the dressing to my wounds and keep me company…it was the greatest gift she could have given me."

It became more and more apparent to Hermione that Fleur was talking about her last night at Hogwarts.

"She didn't know me that well. We weren't friends for even a year but, Merlin, how nice it was to be in the company of someone who expected nothing from me. I didn't have to pretend to be strong. She saw me at my weakest and didn't bat an eyelash! What a character!" Fleur took in a breath, "We didn't talk much but her presence was reassuring. The silence of someone being there was enough for my wounds to heal—the ones you couldn't see."

"But who knows! Such a charming and loving person suddenly appearing at my bedside to console me? I could have been mental and imagined her." Fleur laughed then shook her head. "Non, non, I am not crazy."

The blonde voice dropped to a playful, soothing note.

"As a matter of fact, I think I'm sitting next to her."

Hermione's face began to heat, her gaze dropped to her lap. "I'm afraid…I'm not that person anymore."

"Nonsense!" Fleur declared, scooting closer to her.

"People change, Fleur."

"You are certainly right, _ma cherie_." The blonde raised a finger and then pressed it against Hermione's chest. "But this. This. Does not change. No matter how battered and ruined a person is, how scarred physically, emotionally, mentally, I believe that the heart does not. And you have the heart of a Gryffindor, non?"

Hermione nodded.

"A brave heart. A heart that yearns for justice. One that does not tire even when the body does." Fleur grinned, the candlelight making her glow. "So, to answer your question, Hermione. I try my best with you because you were there in my time of need, even when I did not ask you. You were there trying your best to remind me of all the great things in life when I was lost in my darkest hours."

"And now, I am here for you."

* * *

**June 1996 - End of the Triwizard Tournament**

Fleur watched as Hermione changed her bandages; the brunette carefully unwrapping the stained piece of cloth until nothing remained except Fleur's gashed leg and the red, angry inflamed imprint of Aubrey's hand. With a prepared damp washcloth, Hermione slowly cleaned the wounds. Once in a while, she would look up at Fleur and Fleur would nod, silently telling her to continue.

Hermione was methodical, slowly losing herself in cleansing the cuts and bruises. Fleur watched as the flame that burned so lively inside of the younger witch appeared in her concentrating, dedicated eyes.

Because of the recent events, they hadn't been able to spend as much time together. Hermione would spend much of her time being the messenger between Ron, Harry and their latest feud. If she weren't, Viktor Krum would join her in the library. Fleur, coming in last as usual, would barely see her beyond sidelong glances in the hallways.

On the occasion, Fleur wondered if the brunette realized how precious she had become to Fleur. There would be days when all Fleur, exhausted from training and Aubrey's unwavering ability to call her names, had nothing to look forward to besides was the younger witch. She was almost certain that Hermione had forgotten about their friendship come the Third Task.

_But here you are_. Fleur thought. And here she was, soaking in the warmth that came from Hermione's presence. She thought she had been forgotten, replaced. Fleur felt foolish, to put so much importance on a single person.

Tears began to well in her eyes, realizing that Hermione hadn't forgotten about her, even during the chaos of Cedric's death and final exams. They barely had a week left of school and Hermione chose to take a moment away from her friends to come see _her_.

The thought tipped her over. All the emotions she had been harboring through the entire tournament began to spill out. Anger, resentment, appreciation, misery, a combination of them all and more flowed as tears, refusing to stop even when Fleur bit her lip hard. Fleur covered her eyes with the back of her hand, ashamed that Hermione had to see her this way; broken, mauled, a complete failure.

To her astonishment, fingers intertwined her free hand and a sleeve came to brush away her tears. When Fleur opened her eyes, brown eyes set ablaze looked at her with sincerity, face inches away from Fleur's own.

"A French woman does not cry," Hermione whispered. "It is _barbaric_."

Fleur laughed, tears still running down her cheeks. Hermione joined in her mirth soon after.

Between the high notes, Fleur could hear the desperation in both of their voices, the need to hang on to something as precious as a small joke because times were getting dark.

They laughed because that was the only thing to do besides cry.

Silence filled the room again when they ran out of breath. Hermione returned to bandaging Fleur's leg wounds. Fleur watched her through blurry vision, content to silent tears until the sunlight that filtered through Hogwart's old glass windows turned into moonlight. The younger witched produced a book from her robes and read quietly in the candlelight as Fleur stared at the ceiling.

She felt bittersweet. Truth to be told, Hogwarts had become a kind of haven. She would miss it.

"Hermione?" Fleur called out, breaking their long held silence. "May I ask a favor?"

"Yes."

"Take me outside?"

Hermione was taken aback. "Your leg…"

"…is healing." Fleur affirmed. "Please? I will explain when we are beneath the stars."

Hermione was hesitant but eventually came around and helped her onto her feet. Fleur leaned on the smaller girl as they walked through the empty hospital wing and outside. The fresh air was invigorating to Fleur's lungs, the veela inside of her shook from release, hating the air of confinement. They sat down on the grass; the night air was thick with moisture from the day's light shower.

Above them, the heavens glowed.

"I love your sky," Fleur admitted. "Where Beauxbaton is located…there are too many lights from the city to see the stars. They remind me of my home."

"They make me feel small. Almost insignificant." Hermione replied. "When I am sad, I look upon the stars. Then my problems seem so small compared to the massive universe. If a ball of gas can shine bright enough to reach earth from so far away…"

"A ball of gas…?"

Hermione scoffed, embarrassed. "Muggle beliefs."

"My people—"

"—the French or veelas?"

Fleur was shocked to her core, speechless.

"What?" Hermione scowled. "They are both people."

_I am not going to cry again_, Fleur thought, overwhelming happiness swelling in her chest. Hermione saw her as a person! Completely, wholesomely, entirely a person!

"Veelas." She answered, trying to contain her voice. "They say that the stars are those who have passed, shining their light down on us until we can join them one day."

"That's beautiful, Fleur." Hermione rested her head on Fleur's shoulder, hand falling desperately near Fleur's. Barely, the edges of their pinkies touched and heat bloomed there, a similar heat that grew many months earlier when they sat in front of the Griffindor's hearth.

"I've never felt this way." Fleur confessed, "To another girl. To a school."

Even in the dim light of faraway torches and the moon and stars, she could see Hermione's blush.

"I feel as if we will be very good friends in the future, Hermione." Fleur nodded, taking Hermione's hands in hers, "And your school…does not care for elegance and such trivial things. It is warm, inviting even when it rains too often here. And the stars are beautiful…"

"…If I could somehow go back in time, I wish to attend Hogwarts. With you."

Hermione looked shy but squeezed her hand gently, smiling.

"I've never had a friend that's a girl, Fleur." Hermione admitted, "I feel as if you understand me. Not my habits but me, you know _me_."

* * *

**January 2010 - Present Time**

"I know _you_." Fleur echoed, withdrawing her fingertip from the skin above Hermione's heart. "You're not going to give up until you draw your last breath. So I'll keep trying so long as you are breathing."

Hermione looked away, hands coming over face, her shoulders shaking.

"_Ma belle_, my sincerest apologies. I do not mean to make you cry."

To her surprise, the younger witch grabbed the pillow beside her and threw it at Fleur.

"You keep saying these things and believing in me when _I_ don't! And when you say those _utterly rubbish_ things and you're looking at me like that, I feel as if I can actually get better." Hermione said, genuinely angry. "How do you expect me not to cry?"

"…you threw a pillow at me." Fleur exclaimed. "Are you five?"

Fleur grabbed ahold of the soft cushion that had just recently collided with her face and gave it a swing, targeting Hermione's midsection but the other girl caught it.

"Fleur Delacour, let go of the pillow." Hermione commanded, tears still sparkling in her eyes, "This is absolutely _barbaric_ of a lady."

Fleur didn't. They locked eyes, glaring at each other.

Silence.

They broke into laughter. Fleur could still hear the sadness accenting Hermione's voice but, at the very least, she was still laughing, feeling, stepping closer and closer to being happy again. Day by day, Fleur could hear the life returning to Hermione's voice; see her steps fall firmly on the ground, her fingers gripping a quill with the same finesse Fleur witnessed in the library five years ago.

There was still a long way for Hermione to go, skeletons in her closet to be reveal, scars that needed healing. But Fleur would be there, every step of the way.

* * *

**At the same time - Somewhere in France**

"_Where is it!_?" A man with greasy hair yelled, throwing pieces of paper and books on the floor. His large nose snarled, sweat dripping from his brows.

Another man stood at the entrance to the library, he was taller and wore muggle clothing. His sleeves were rolled up and, on his wrist, a tattoo of a snake circled an alchemic circle that was glowing. "I told you, brother, it is not here."

"Then find it!" The shorter, portly man yelled.

"There is no need." The man traced the luminescent insignia on his hand, "We will know soon enough."

* * *

dum dum dummmmmm *dramatic drums*

Chad and Aubrey will be back.

This is such an emotionally loaded chapter huh? How dd you like Fleur's backstory and the racism that she faced? I feel as if alot of fics portray Fleur as a typical rich girl with veela blood but I wanted to give her depth. Same with Hermione. c: As usual, I encourage response of any kind. If you don't want to review, shoot me an ask on tumblr!


	4. Chapter 4

Greetings!I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I had written what I had outlined but it felt forced and lengthy so I chose to revise it again and again and again. This is just half of the original chapter but I think it flows better this way.

I want to remind everyone that this is an **Alternate History fic; most of the events in the books/movies are kept canon except for Fleur's involvement. **I'm sorry if I didn't make that clear in the beginning. I beg you to read it until the end, the first part is rough and should feel as if it doesn't belong but it does. I promise.

This chapter is dedicated to all you readers!

* * *

**Chapter 4: Dreams**

* * *

**June 1996 – Fleur's return to Beauxbaton.**

Fleur gripped the envelope in her hand with earnest, the paper creasing as she ran her thumb along its edges for the umpteenth time.

Around her, the space was quiet.

_I miss this, _Fleur thought, looking around the center room that she had called a second home during her adolescent years. Two pairs of ivory colored doors facing opposite each other lead to lone, private bedrooms. The wall she was facing, made almost entirely of windows, had a fireplace running down its middle. Fleur sat, curled into the armchair that faced a crackling flame, trying to breathe as the sun lowered into the horizon.

Her homecoming had been unnerving. Beauxbaton's students greeted her with seemingly natural smiles and gentleness as whispers and darting eyes spoke in hushed tones of her less-than-stellar performance. Still, she returned with her head held high walking next to Madam Maxim's large figure, trying to convince every curve of her body that, no matter what, the Triwizard Cup— ancient magic itself—chose her.

Aubrey's words and figure loomed behind her like a shadow, following every step she took, waiting for the day she would falter, stumble and dirty her hands in mud. Aubrey was, as she had been since their first year, waiting for Fleur to fail. In six years, Fleur had walked—with grace, discipline and elegance—against Aubrey. For six years she had succeeded. Until something changed in her final year and now she had more to lose than her own image.

Fleur ran her fingers against the envelope, wondering if she should open Hermione's letter and read it again. It was comforting, in some ways, seeing neatly scrawled words spelling out "kind" and "brave" in Hermione's handwriting. For what she was about to do, Fleur needed to be brave.

The door to the entrance clicked open and from the brisk noisy gait, Fleur knew it was her tortuous roommate, Aubrey.

Whereas students were divided into houses at Hogwarts, there was no such system at Beauxbaton. Being newer and much more exclusive, her school was based on seniority; where and who she lived with, her classes and privileges depended on the year of admittance. As such, she shared a large apartment style dorm room with other seventh year students, two of them bearable and the other being the devil incarnate.

"Aubrey." Fleur said, her voice steady and firm as she stood from the armchair, looking the dark haired girl directly in the eyes.

"Nice to see you standing, half breed." Aubrey began her verbal assault, brushing strands of wavy hair behind her shoulder. Aubrey hadn't always regarded her with open animosity but that quickly changed by their seventh year as graduation approached. "I was hoping to see you crawl."

"Let's cut the pleasantries, Aubrey." Fleur's fists curled, her wand gaining weight and presence in the pocket of her uniform. "I have an offer for you."

The other girl snickered immaturely, "What could you possibly give to me that I do not already have?"

"My sister's protection, from you and your friend's bullying." Fleur declared. She swallowed thickly her chest beginning to pain from the impending impact. Gabrielle attended much of the Triwizard Tournament on her first year; Fleur could shield her from harsh realities but she couldn't always be there. "In exchange, I'll do whatever you want."

Silence. Aubrey's face turned sinister in the dwindling light of the sunset.

"_Whatever _I want?"

"Whatever you want." Fleur repeated.

A menacing smile slithered across Aubrey's face. Fleur's stomach dropped. Aubrey would strip everything she had earned, take everything she had worked so hard to attain. _ It was worth it_, Fleur told herself. For the sake of Gabrielle's protection from words like _halfbreed _and _chimera_; for her dear sister to be able to study at the prestigious school without harassment or discrimination she faced, Fleur would sacrifice it all.

Fleur had worked hard enough to gain the trust and respect of most of the staff and students there, even the ones that treated her with disregard in her first year. Others, she could intimidate into submission. Aubrey, however, she would have to stoop to bribing.

_Anything for Gabrielle, _she chanted in her mind.

"In three days' time, we will be graduating. Traditionally, the valedictorian gives the commencement speech. However, if you can make yourself scarce…"

"I will." Fleur gritted her teeth. Her graduation should be a proud moment for her—and her family—but they all could be proud at Gabrielle's graduation.

"Resign from your position as the Council's President." Fleur nodded. "You know what? Don't even attend tomorrow's practice assembly."

"Do we have ourselves an agreement?"

"No. I'm not done." Aubrey spat, "My things need packing, you'll see to it tonight."

"Fine." Fleur hissed.

"And…" Aubrey's eyes darted around the room, still thinking, before settling on Fleur's left hand. The hand that held Hermione's letter. "That."

"It is a friend's letter, Aubrey." She was becoming irritated at the pettiness. "Completely harmless."

"You should see your face when you read it, smiling like a fool. You've been attached to it since Harry Potter delivered it to you. He's only fifteen years old, you know."

"It's not what you think it is." Harry Potter merely delivered the letter to her because two Champions exchanging letters was less scandalous than Hermione's sudden interest in her. Hermione, after leaving her in the hospital bay that night, had an exam. Harry had explained such when he handed her the envelope in a crowded hallway.

"The letter." Aubrey repeated, obviously thinking something more was afoot. Of course she wouldn't miss an opportunity to send Fleur's reputation to hell.

Reluctantly, Fleur offered up the item, hoping that once the contents had been read, Aubrey would return it. The other girl snatched the letter out of her hand and opened it with zeal.

"_Fleur, I'm sorry to say good bye this way. I wish to see you off but considering the situation… I feel it best to reach you via letter. It's been a pleasure to meet you._" Aubrey read aloud in a mocking tone, making Fleur shake with fury. Hermione deserved no such treatment. Her kind words were being altered by Aubrey's high pitched, condescending voice. "_I am happy to say that I've made a very kind and brave friend this year despite my initial judgement."_

"Kind? And Brave? How about a disgrace to Beauxbaton's prestigious lineage?" The other girl snorted loudly and continued reading. "_Enclosed are the address of my home and instructions on how to mail muggle letters. I look forward to hearing from you this summer. _

_Sincerely, Hermione Granger._"

"Muggle letters?! A mudblood! Hermione? That clumsy girl with the big hair that seduced Viktor

Krum and Harry Potter?" Aubrey tore the letter from her view and looked at Fleur with disgust. "Finally, you've made friends with someone who is almost as low as you."

Something inside of Fleur wanted to break out, as if the blood beneath her skin had turned into fire. Aubrey could torture and bully her all she wanted but Hermione—and Gabrielle—deserved no such treatment. Hermione, with all her innocence and shy smiles, was not a mudblood; she was the future of wizardkind and anyone with eyes could see it.

"See? A harmless message." Fleur seethed, reaching out to grab the letter but Aubrey pulled away.

"If it's so harmless…" Aubrey made her way towards the fireplace.

No.

"…then you won't be needing it."

Fleur watched the letter engulf itself with flames, the plastic of the stamps melting and bubbling in the fire until it dissipated into dark goo. She wanted to attack, wanted to take Aubrey by the throat and demand repentance, wanted to press her wand against the dark haired girl's chest until her eyes gave way to fear and pain. With the destruction of the letter, Fleur would have no means of contacting Hermione for the summer and she doubted Hermione would be interested receiving a letter from an acquaintance months after leaving.

She lost her chance.

Fleur thought she was ready to give up anything but she was wrong. The letter wasn't one of them.

Aubrey's high pitched laugh tore her from her thoughts, she already had her wand out and its tip glowed with the faint sparkle that marked the beginning of the Unbreakable Vow. "Do we have a deal?"

"Yes." Fleur growled, vehemently shaking from containing tears and trying to remember Gabrielle.

_Anything for Gabrielle._

* * *

**January 2001 – Present time**

Hermione heard herself laugh, for the first time, in a very long time. Fleur was laughing with her—a clear, pristine laugh, containing as much grace and elegance as Fleur did.

"I guess I have been living with the British for too long," Fleur sighed pulling away and situating herself at the foot of the bed, armed with a pillow and smiling widely. "I have become very unladylike."

"How long have you been here?" Hermione asked, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Almost two years." Fleur shrugged, "I arrived shortly after the battle. You, Harry and Ron had already left a day earlier to tend to other matters. There was a lot to do in terms of repair. I helped where I could."

Hermione was surprised but quiet until she drew the connections. "Hogwarts' repairs are done. What are you doing here now?"

"Formally, I am the headmistress' aid. However, it is just a title. I help Minerva in whatever way I can, but my main purpose here is to pursue a masteries in Alchemy. Hogwarts has one of the most extensive texts on ancient magic, yes?"

"Alchemy?" Fleur had never mentioned her interest in the subject all those years ago. Whenever they studied together, Fleur seemed keen on Charms and Ancient Runes. "I would have never imagined you going into such a field."

"Life has a way of changing you, I suppose." Fleur smiled wryly.

"It does." Hermione thought back to her fourth year, she remembered being happy before Voldemort's revival, before the Order was formed, before running around the country living inside a tent. Before Fred…

"Hermione?"

She shook her head, pulling herself together. Hermione could feel the fabric of her conscience coming apart; hallucinations crept into the crevices of her mind, but she denied them access. On most days, it was easier. She usually had more control of herself, treading her thoughts carefully and never delving too deep into the war.

"Hermione?"

"I'm sorry," She offered an apologetic smile at the blonde who had saved her earlier. "Did you say something?"

"Are you alright?" Fleur's perfect forehead creased in worry. It was a look Hermione was used to, the same look Fleur would give her when she ate too little or studied too much.

Hermione nodded. Fleur smiled in relief, pools of cerulean blue shimmering in the candlelight.

"What?" She was suddenly insecure under Fleur's intense gaze.

"Nothing…" Fleur looked away, shy but still smiling. "It is just…this is the first time we have had a real conversation. My efforts are turning fruitful, yes?"

Hermione thought for a second, feeling the corners of her mouth lift. "It took you several months to get a girl to talk to you. If you see that as success, you're no better than a thirteen year old boy."

"It is good then, that I am not a male and much older, hmm?" Fleur's clever retort made her chuckle.

Hermione cleared her throat, suddenly becoming aware of her surroundings. "It's getting rather late. I suppose I should be heading back to my dormitory now."

"Why not stay the night?" Fleur laid a gentle hand on her knee. "Your school bag is already here, I have some sleeping gowns and extra toiletries you can borrow. Surely my bed is more comfortable than the school's."

Hermione huffed, pouting. She didn't want to invade Fleur's home. A part of her craved familiarity, her bed, her desk, her own room. There was only so much exposure she could take and Hermione knew that she was already on edge.

"Please? It would be a great offense to me if you left to weather the cold back to your room."

"…Fine." Hermione didn't want to brave the blisteringly cold walk back into Hogwarts with only her uniform on and she doubted Fleur wanted to either. A second later, she added, "Only if you sleep on your bed and I take the sofa."

"Don't be ridiculous, you are my guest."

"And you've been sleeping on the floor." She thought Fleur would have stopped the ridiculous habit a month into her stay but the blonde was resistant and stubborn. Instead of giving up, Fleur quickly mastered a cushioning charm and used it nightly to turn her comforter into a bed. "A night on your sofa won't hurt me."

"You are a guest," Fleur repeated with finality. "My mother would be appalled if she found out I allowed you to spend a night elsewhere."

They argued back and forth for a few more minutes until Hermione gave up. Fleur Delacour was dead set on being the perfect host and no amount of pouting and stubbornness was changing that. After showering and changing into borrowed pajamas, Hermione settled into Fleur's bed with a textbook. Her body and mind was tired. The sound of Fleur's shower and pleasant humming became background noise as she delved into her reading.

It took a little while for her to readjust to school but when she did, studying greatly improved her mood on days when her scar burned like she had bathed it in fire. It was easy to concentrate on hard, unchanging facts and figures, essays and spells. School was a world Hermione felt familiar and completely in control of which contrasted greatly with the fickleness of life. Hermione missed the routine of school work and, despite missing Harry and Ron's company, it was a nice to only worry about her own homework for a change.

The thought of Harry and Ron made her frown. Luckily—or unluckily, the door to the bathroom swung open and revealed Fleur clad in a short nightgown, somehow impervious to the cold. Hermione couldn't help but stare.

She rarely looked upon anyone that took her breath away—something about boys and men that made her recognize their handsomeness without truly appreciating their beauty. She knew good looks by the symmetry of someone's face, the complexion of their skin, the visibility of certain muscles but rarely did her eyes settle upon a sight that made her feel like she was looking upon a masterpiece.

That was what Fleur was—a masterpiece. The fine work of genetics, light blonde hair and long toned legs walking from the bathroom to her dresser. Hermione's eyes followed Fleur's tall, willowy figure as if she had only just realized the beauty that the blonde carried with her daily. She watched with shameful interest as Fleur stood in front of the full length mirror and summoned warm air currents from the tips of her wand, directing it at fine, golden white hair. Everything about Fleur was painfully beautiful in a way Hermione couldn't understand. Her features were exaggerated and, alone, they were disproportioned; large blue eyes, thin nose, full lips, small chin and long hair. Those features weren't meant to complement each other but did so to make a face that drew crowds of attention.

Hermione averted her interest to the ink of her book when Fleur's reflection caught her staring, blood rushing to her cheeks.

* * *

Hermione shut her book when Fleur reappeared in her bedroom carrying an armful of blankets and pillows then dropping them onto the ground. "I thought we agreed you'd spend the night on the sofa."

"Non, we agreed that you should sleep on my bed." Fleur replied as she moved the bedding around to make a makeshift sleeping bag.

Hermione groaned, not amused at Fleur's trick of words. "You are not sleeping on the floor in your own home."

"I said I was going to be here for you Hermione. We French take our promises very seriously." Fleur reminded. "What if you have a nightmare?"

"It is only for tonight."

"After the day that you've had? I am sleeping here."

"No, you are not. I already gave into your requests once, Fleur, so please heed mine."

"This isn't up for discussion, Hermione." In an act of defiance, Fleur called for the cushioning charm and waved her wand. Hermione wrenched the comforter above her and stood up, nearly stomping her way to Fleur. The other woman was already settling in, shifting to get comfortable in her improvised bed when Hermione hovered over her.

Fleur smiled winningly up at her from the ground. "Good night ma belle."

"If you're going to be that way…" Hermione pulled the covers from the bed and threw them on the floor. "I'll sleep here too."

They laid there on the somewhat cold and definitely hard ground for several minutes in silence. Hermione could feel Fleur glaring at her but ignored it. _Apparently stubbornness is a trait we both possess, _Hermione thought as she counted the dots on the ceiling, trying to will herself to sleep. _The floor s supposed to be good for my back anyways_, she reasoned as she shifted uncomfortably.

She was suddenly more impressed by Fleur's sheer will, realizing that the blonde had spent weeks on the floor without relying on any type of magic to comfort her. A pang of guilt and then great appreciation ran through her. When she turned to Fleur, the blonde was still glaring at her. Hermione raised a defying and testing eyebrow, as if daring Fleur to outsmart her wit.

"This is absolutely ridiculous." Fleur declared.

"It really is." Hermione agreed, not moving.

"I have a perfectly usable bed and yet, somehow, we are _both_ on the ground." Fleur sighed. Hermione felt blankets and pillows shift beside her. Suddenly Fleur was standing and holding her wand.

"Wingardium leviosa."

Hermione suppressed a yelp as she was slowly rising from the ground. Expertly, Fleur directed her over the bed and then eased her down. Hermione's hand reached for her own wand, expecting to stop a binding curse until she saw Fleur pull up the covers and climb into the mattress.

"Absolutely ridiculous." Fleur grumbled, fluffing her pillow with great and unneeded force.

"Goodnight, Fleur." Hermione sing-songed, trying not to smile when they both settled into bed properly. She turned her back to the blonde and heard her mumble a response in French.

As expected, sleep eluded her. She lay awake until the candle on the nightstand burned out and moonlight poured through cloudy, dusty windows. Hermione was acutely aware of Fleur's body next to her. She could hear two sets of breaths echo into the room, feel the slight warmth that emanated from Fleur. It was the first time she had shared a bed with anyone but Ron—the jarring thought made Hermione shift uncomfortably.

When the nightmares started Ron was more than considerate, holding her until she stopped crying. As the months wore on, between long and tiresome days tracking Death Eaters, she could feel Ron grow more and more agitated with her constant nightmares. Hermione could tell he was relieved—his eyes betrayed him even when his words insisted otherwise—when she offered to sleep by herself, cloaked in a silencing charm.

For a moment, she wondered if Fleur would tire of her but it was a delirious thought and she banished it the moment it surfaced. Who was she to compare Ron, a previous boyfriend, to Fleur? Fleur was gracious, kind, considerate and _constant_. Hermione shook her head. Weren't those qualities supposed to be associated with Ron?

She sighed loudly, exasperated. At the noise, Fleur shook. Hermione quieted and slowed her breathing, hoping she hadn't woken the other woman.

"Hermione?" She had hoped wrong.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"Non." She could hear Fleur swallow. "It seems like I cannot get any closed eye tonight."

Hermione's face wrinkled, confused for a second at the awkward sentencing until she realized Fleur's mistake. "Shut eye. The idiom for sleeping is getting 'shut eye'."

"Right. Right." Hermione wondered if Fleur was blushing like she had so many years ago when Hermione would constantly correct her improper use of English idioms. "I suppose you are not having any better luck grasping sleep yourself?"

"I am not. To be honest," She paused to allow the knot in her vocal cords to dissipate. "I am kind of afraid to sleep."

"Nightmares?"

"Yes."

A pause. Silence spilled into the darkness. The comforters and a couple pillows shifted. She could almost feel Fleur turn to face her.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Fleur asked. "About the nightmares or today's incident?"

The knot in Hermione's throat suddenly tripled in size until it swallowed her vocal cords. It was the first time since their argument that Fleur had pressed her to speak of her problems. She choked. Her mouth opened and then closed several times. How was she supposed to discuss her 'condition' with Fleur? Panic attacks coupled with extreme paranoia, a burning sensation on her arm and hallucinations when her thoughts delved too deep in the past? Anxiety, constant tiredness, nausea and irritability? Hermione was sure there wasn't a magical diagnosis for it.

More than anything, how was she supposed to tell Fleur the cause behind her illness? How does one explain the shame and guilt, the anger and pain that plagued her.

"You do not have to." Fleur reached out and touched her shoulder. "I'll wait until you're ready."

Touched, Hermione turned to face Fleur.

"I know—I know you worry about me. Just. Right now. I can't. I can't answer those questions. I am truly sorry." She genuinely couldn't, not without feeling as if her entire being would be shredded apart by guilt and shame.

Fleur nodded, the silvery glow that she emitted shining brighter than normal in the moonlight. "Please do not apologize. I understand that whatever sickness that is plaguing you cannot be cured overnight or in a matter of months. In the meantime, remember that I am here and I will continue to be here if you ever need me, hmm?"

"Yes. Thank you, Fleur." Hermione's chest swelled with appreciation." For everything."

For the first time in a very long time, Hermione reached forward and touched another person willingly. Hermione made contact with someone and it wasn't to push them away, similar to what she had tried to do months ago when Fleur first experienced her nightmares. Her hand grasped Fleur's own, their fingers tangling in each other.

"You are very welcome." Fleur squeezed her hand, the silvery glow that encompassed her body momentarily shining brighter. "Is there anything that I can do to help you sleep?"

She thought for a moment, considering all the nights when she would awake from a nightmare with Fleur already by her side, running a soothing hand up and down her back. Hermione blinked hard. She wasn't a child that needed to be coddled and cooed into sleep. She didn't have an answer to the question until the sound of a quiet hum from Fleur reached her ears.

"Tell me something pretty—something beautiful." Fleur went silent at the request, either taken aback or deep in thought. Hermione wanted to wager it was the latter of the two.

"Are you sure?" Mirth lined the corners of Fleur's voice when she finally answered, "I could go on forever about myself."

"Yes." Hermione stifled a laugh. It didn't matter what the other woman chose to speak of so long as she spoke in that calming voice of hers that often lulled Hermione to sleep.

Fleur took a deep breath and then began.

"My favorite activity in the spring and summertime is wreath making."

"I was an only child for most of my childhood until my younger sister, Gabrielle, was born. She is very lively, a bit of a palmful at times but I love her dearly. When Gabrielle was old enough, my Grandmere taught us how to make garlands by hand during the summers when I returned home from Beauxbaton. It became our favorite pastime." Fleur's voice reached a thick, soothing timbre as if it were honey on a hot summer day. "We would spend entire mornings searching for the flowers. Roses, lilies, pansies, they all grew in the meadows that bordered our cottage."

Hermione interrupted with a spark of realization, "Doesn't your name mean flower in French?"

"It does. How did you figure?"

"There's a spell called _Fleur De Lis_ that rejuvenates wilting flowers. If memory serves, the spell is French in origin and means something like flower-lily?"

"Very clever! You are indeed correct." Fleur sounded pleased, "My name means flower of the court. My mother named me so because I was born on the spring equinox, the first day of the season."

Hermione thought it to be fitting; Fleur certainly had the beauty and grace to charm a royal court. "Ahh—please continue. I didn't mean to interrupt before."

"Around high noontime when the sun was directly overhead, I would go inside to make iced tea and Gabrielle would settle on the porch with her basketful of flowers. Being so young and full of energy, she does not stay still for very long but when it came to marking garlands—Gabi would sit still for hours." Hermione's eyes began to droop. It was endearing to listen to Fleur speak so lovingly about her younger sister. "We'd make them for each other or our parents, sometimes for our visiting relatives. When Gabrielle didn't like an aunt or cousin, she would weave several apricot flowers into…"

Hermione fell into sleep like a rock into a river, taking in the Fleur's melodic voice as she described the intricacies of wreath making and the meaning behind each flower they used. Faintly, she could recall the feeling of Fleur's warm hands still attached to her own as flowing darkness claimed her vision.

That night was a night of firsts for Hermione. It was the first time she laughed—in a very long time. It was the first night when she felt to her core, even if the feeling was brief and fleeting, that everything would be alright. It was the first night she would fall into her dreams and they weren't marred with dead hollow eyes and bloody hands.

* * *

Hermione awoke in a field of tall grass, the sun overhead shining brightly in her eyes. She felt the wind wrap around her, blowing long curly locks of hair away from her face. In the distance, a small house loomed at the horizon beckoning her to come closer. She took a few steps towards it, relishing in the feel of soft pasture between her toes.

Instinctively, she stopped walking after a few paces and willed the house closer. As if the laws of physics curved to her demand, the length between herself and the house shrunk. Hermione found herself standing in front of a quaint cottage, only slightly bigger than the Burrow, painted a creamy white. Vines ran up and along the side of the home, appropriately accenting it with its green hue.

A small pile of flowers sat on the steps that lead onto the cottage's porch and Hermione approached it with keen interest. It was as if her body moved on its own accord, as if intuition became action without her consent. She picked the small flowers up, its seven petals no bigger than the nail of her pinky finger.

"It's called a sundrop flower." Fleur said, behind her. Hermione should have been startled but she wasn't, as if Fleur's presence had always been there. "I gave it to my sister once. It symbolizes protection."

Hermione turned to Fleur, flowers in hand. The other woman was wearing a long white dress—similar to the one Hermione was wearing. In her hand was a bouquet of flowers; stargazers, pansies, white roses, a single stand along sunflower. For some reason she knew their names and meaning, despite never learning about them.

She tried to concentrate but to no avail. There was magic amidst but she couldn't pinpoint its source, as if it permeated the air that she breathed and the fabric that made her skin.

"Protection against what?"

"Whatever lies ahead." Fleur said cryptically.

"What is ahead of us?"

"What you have tried to put behind you."

Hermione shook her head. "How do you know about—? "

"I do not. This is the nature of dreams, _oui?_ Knowing yet not knowing, feeling yet never touching."

As Fleur spoke, she began to let go of the flowers and they floated off into the horizon. The pansies went first, disappearing in a gust behind Fleur. Hermione watched them fly away and as she did, she grew increasingly bothered by their disappearance.

"People always end up of leaving." Hermione said when all that was left in Fleur's hand was a single white rose. "That's the harsh truth about life; when you die you go alone into the unknown."

"Does it scare you?"

"Sometimes." Fleur offered her the white rose and Hermione took it. The rose changed colors, turning yellow, then pink and back to white. "Are you going to leave? Am I going to lose you too?"

"Ah, ma chérie." Fleur shook her head, stepping closer to her. "I have lost you already, many years ago."

"Do you think I can be found?" Hermione closed the distance between them with her hand, letting a single fingertip touch the apple of Fleur's cheek and then trace down to her jawline. A strange warmth pulsed through her that began where she and Fleur made physical contact. It felt real.

Fleur nodded, shining eyes the color of the sky looking inside of her.

"I don't think you'll like what you find." Hermione noted and allowed the falling sun to eclipse their bodies, brightness overtaking her vision until she and Fleur ceased to exist.

* * *

And thats it! Do tell me what you think. :) Shoutout to Frosty and Indie and all the people who have been in the Fleurmione chat. Until next time, readers. Sweet dreams.


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